


Paris Holds the Key (To Your Heart)

by thejourneyseemsendless



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist!Jongin, Fluff, France - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love in Paris, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Travel, implied seho, they spend a lot of time sitting on benches, way too many art references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 06:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18255539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneyseemsendless/pseuds/thejourneyseemsendless
Summary: Jongin was little more than a child when he first laid his eyes upon a Monet painting. Since then, going to France has been his biggest dream. When the time comes to finally fulfill it, he asks Chanyeol to come with him - the same Chanyeol he has been in love with for years and that actually loves him back (he doesn’t know that yet though).





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #** : 31  
>  **Original Prompt** : Jongin goes to France for a week for the first time in his life (aka his biggest dream ever) and he asked his best friend Chanyeol to come along. The said best friend whom he loves and actually loves him back (he doesn't know that yet though).
> 
> This fic turned out much longer than I had thought at the beginning, but I’m happy with the result, and, dear prompter, I hope you’ll be too! As soon as I read your prompt I just had to make it mine ♥ This fic has come to mean so much to me, I’ve enjoyed every single moment spent writing it.  
> I love Jongin, I love Chanyeol, I love France (even though I’ve never been there). This is my love letter to them.
> 
> To the Mods: thank you so much for organizing this fest, thank you for your patience and kindness, this was my first experience in a fest and I truly enjoyed it.
> 
> To my beta: I’m so glad and so lucky I met you. Thank you for your kindness, your advice, your enthusiasm. Thank you for everything, you're amazing ♥
> 
> Last, but not least, to my friend M: without you, this fic wouldn’t have been written. Thank you for always being there for me and for always supporting my obsessions ♥ 
> 
> One more thing: I’ve written this story listening to this [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/u1460awc5lh15e4j5ixjkbac4/playlist/7CKvu3QaN83cUXmB4APnzP?si=TQcvt6yhQMyClJ-6psUfgw/). If you want to give it a listen, it’s made of all the songs Chanyeol has played for us during his Insta lives!
> 
> Title is from the song by the same title from the movie Anastasia.

_July 18th, Seoul, Incheon Airport, 9:35 AM_

_“Good morning, passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight LH719 to Munich. We are now inviting passengers with small children to begin boarding at this time. Please, have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you.”_

Jongin hadn’t slept a wink that night. He had tossed and turned in his bed for hours, too excited at the prospect of finally fulfilling his biggest dream: going to France and seeing with his own eyes the beauty he had just seen in books.

His love for France and French art had hit him early in life: when he was about twelve years old his parents had taken him to see an art exhibition dedicated to French art at the National Museum of Korea, in Seoul.  He had pouted all the way to the museum, whining that he’d rather stay at home with his older sister – who, at seventeen, was the most boring person in Jongin’s life, only interested in make-up and _boys_ – than look at some old, artsy stuff for a whole afternoon. His parents, though, had been adamant and had literally dragged him inside the museum, totally immune to his puppy dog eyes after twelve years of being subjected to them. Jongin had reluctantly followed them through the large rooms filled with old people and even older paintings, bored out of his mind, wishing to just go back home and play with his dog. He had soon left his parents behind to wander on his own, annoyed by their slow pace.

The last section of the exhibition had been dedicated to the Impressionism; of course, at that time, Jongin had no idea what that word meant, or that what he was about to experience would be fundamental in making him the person he was.

Once inside the room, his eyes had scanned the paintings on the walls without too much care, ready to just move on already, but a shock of blue had stopped him in his tracks. Curious – for blue was his favorite color after all -, he had turned towards the painting, and what he saw had left him breathless. Blue, green and pink so expertly mixed together to create something that in Jongin’s heart had to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen: a blue pond, with pink water lilies floating on its surface, white clouds reflected on the water. He didn’t know for how long he had stood there, enchanted, until his parents had come for him, but since that day onwards, his life hadn’t been the same.

Now, almost ten years later, he was an Arts and Humanities student at the Korean National University of Arts, about to board a plane that would finally take him to France.

“I think I forgot to pack my toothbrush.”

And that was his best friend, Park Chanyeol.

“You’ll have to buy one when we land, it’s too late now.”

“Ah, fuck it. I knew I had forgotten something.”

 

He had met Chanyeol during his first year of university, thanks to a common friend. He was a couple of years older than him and was studying to become a composer. They had hit it off right away and had been inseparable ever since.

“At what time do we land in Munich?” Chanyeol was now munching on a granola bar he had found in his bag while he was looking for his toothbrush.

“2:30 PM, local time.” Jongin had memorized every single detail of their travel plan. “Our connecting flight for Marseille leaves at 3:35 PM, we should arrive there at 5:10 PM.”

Chanyeol chuckled. “No reason to worry about getting lost or missing a flight with you.” He looked at Jongin with fond eyes. “Imagine if I was traveling with Baekhyun! I’m sure we would get lost without even leaving Korea!”

“Don’t be mean. Baekhyun has a lot of good qualities, it’s just that organization is not one of them.”

Chanyeol was still looking at him with affection. “Jokes aside, I’m really glad you asked me to come with you. I’ve never been to Europe and to see it for the first time with my best friend… I’m really grateful.” He smiled that beautiful smile that Jongin loved, the one that showed his dimple.

“I’m glad you said yes…”

“We’re going to do fun things too, right? Not just museums and artsy stuff,” Chanyeol teased him.

Jongin rolled his eyes; he had heard those same words repeated to him again and again since he had asked Chanyeol to come with him on this trip. His friend loved to tease him: their interests were so different, it was actually surprising they got along so well.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, there’ll be fun stuff, too.”

There was another reason why Jongin was looking forward to this trip: he had been in love with Chanyeol almost since the day he had met him. The idea of spending an entire week with him, only the two of them, without any friends or family that could get in the way, was exhilarating. And, as his friend Sehun would say, he was also a hopeless romantic: what better occasion than this trip to France to finally confess his love for Chanyeol? Didn’t they call Paris “the city of love”, after all? He just had to find the perfect time and place, and a good amount of courage. Of course, that was easier said than done: his shyness was legendary, and just the thought of telling Chanyeol all that he carried hidden in his heart was enough to make him feel nauseous. But he had promised himself – and Sehun – that he would at least try and test the waters, if not anything else. His feelings were becoming too strong to haul around forever without knowing for sure if they could be reciprocated. 

 

“Let’s go, they’re starting to board the other passengers.”

At Chanyeol’s words, Jongin got up, took his backpack from where he had left it on the floor, and joined the queue that had formed in front of their gate, a thought circling in his mind: this vacation was going to be memorable, he would make sure of it.

 


	2. Chapter One

 

 

_Marseille, Hotel Minerve, 7 PM (or, sixteen hours later)_

“Ahh, this bed is comfy,” Chanyeol said, his voice muffled by the pillow he had buried his face into as soon as he had stepped foot inside their room. Jongin chuckled at the sight: he, too, was exhausted and was looking forward to burying himself in his bed to have a good night’s sleep. He had dozed on and off while on the plane, but his body demanded more.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower.” Chanyeol muttered something which Jongin chose to interpret as _Of course, Jongin, take your time_. Getting all the necessary items from his suitcase, he stepped inside the bathroom and got ready to wash off the day’s tiredness.

 

“Done, it’s all yours.”

When Jongin exited the bathroom, his hair still wet, dressed in a loose shirt and comfy pants and with a towel around his neck, he expected to find Chanyeol busy perusing one of the too many traveling apps he had downloaded on his phone for the occasion, claiming them to be necessary for a successful trip. What greeted him, instead, was the sight of his best friend deep asleep on his bed, still in the day’s clothes, drooling a bit on his pillow, his glasses all crooked on his nose. Not a beautiful vision by any means, but Jongin still found it adorable.

Leaving his wet towel on a chair, he moved towards Chanyeol’s bed with the intention of making his friend’s rest more comfortable: he took off his shoes and put them under the bed, then removed his glasses and placed them on his nightstand, within easy reach. Chanyeol had fallen asleep on the bedcover, so there was no actual way of getting him under it without waking him, but the evening was warm, and the night would probably still be so, so Jongin wasn’t worried. He was about to go down to the lobby in search of food, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to lightly caress Chanyeol’s messy locks, whispering a soft good night in his ear.

 

_July 19th, La Canebière, 9:03 AM_

“Oh, my God, this is so good!”

Chanyeol was devouring his second _pain au chocolat_ of the day. He chomped loudly, traces of chocolate filling dirtying his lips. Jongin resisted the urge to clean them up with his tongue; instead, he offered him one of the flimsy paper napkins placed on their table.

They were seated outside one of the many cafés that dotted _La Canebière_ , Marseille’s main boulevard that ran through the city’s historical center. That morning they had woken up famished – especially Chanyeol who hadn’t eaten dinner the night before-, so, after a quick shower, they had taken the tram that ran just outside their hotel to the city center, longing for a traditional French breakfast.

The boulevard was crowded, locals and tourists alike going their merry way, encouraged by the warm weather, a light breeze blowing through the branches of the trees and bringing with it the scent of the sea that could just be glimpsed at the end of the boulevard, framed by a scenography made of tall, white buildings. Jongin was enamored with what he saw; he still couldn’t quite believe he was really in France, and in the company of his best friend, no less! It had just been a few hours, but he already knew that this experience would stay in his heart for a long, long time.

 

“So, what’s the plan for today?”

Chanyeol’s words broke up his reverie, bringing him back to the matter at hand. He blinked, startled, and, turning towards his friend – who, in the meantime, had managed to polish all the pastries that had been brought to them -, took out of his pocket the small touristic map given to him at the hotel the night before. He unfolded it and spread it on the table, about to trace for Chanyeol the route they would be following, but, before he could open his mouth, Chanyeol beat him to it: “You must be the only twenty-one years old who prefers to use an actual map rather than a virtual one,” he grinned, peering down at the map.

Jongin huffed, ready to defend himself and his _totally valid_ choices, but Chanyeol continued, “It’s cute.” Thankfully, he was still examining the map, so he didn’t notice the way Jongin had flushed bright red from the tip of his ears to his neck.

“Are we here?” Chanyeol asked, pointing his finger right at the middle of _La Canebière_.

“Yeah…” Jongin mumbled, his heart beating so fast in his chest he was sure it had to be visible from the outside. _Get a grip, you idiot_ , he thought. “Yeah, we’re here. Our first stop will be the _Vieux Port_ , the Old Port, we just need to follow this road.” He traced the route with his finger. “There’s an interesting art installation just here. Then we can go and take a look at _Le Panier_ district,” he concluded.

“Let’s go then!” And with that, Chanyeol got up from his chair, grabbed Jongin by the wrist, and dragged him towards their first destination.

 

_Le Vieux Port, 9:45 AM_

The boulevard led them directly on the quay of the Old Port. The view was spectacular: the water shimmered under the sun, the docked boats were gently being rocked back and forth by the waves, seagulls flew up above their heads, their cries clearly heard despite the buzz of the crowd that surrounded them and the rumbling cars. Chanyeol had already started taking pictures with his phone, eager to show the view to his substantial number of followers on Instagram. Jongin, for his part, was trying to memorize all the details and the colors assaulting his eyes to be able to reproduce them in the sketchbook he had specifically bought to record this trip.

Once Chanyeol was satisfied with the multiple pictures he had taken, they moved towards the art installation Jongin had mentioned before. Called _L’Ombrière_ , it was an enormous mirror that, laying on thin pillars, showed the reflection of those who walked under it. Kids were running around underneath, their eyes fixed up, mindless of the risk of bumping against other passersby.

“Jonginnie, let’s take a picture together!” Chanyeol’s eyes were filled with wonder, his nose pointed upwards, his eyes fixed on their reflection, his arm stretched out towards Jongin and his hand moving in a grabbing motion, a clear invitation to come closer. Jongin, a mischievous light in his eyes, jumped up on Chanyeol’s back, expecting his friend to catch him – and he did, barely.

“Jongin!” Chanyeol yelled, Jongin’s weight pulling him backward before he managed to regain his footing. Jongin started laughing loudly in his ear: “Take the picture, Chanyeol, before we both fall on our asses!”

As soon as Chanyeol had taken the picture, Jongin got off from his back and started running, followed at a short distance by Chanyeol, bent on revenge; they chased each other around on the quay laughing like little kids, until Chanyeol grabbed Jongin by his shirt and, pulling him towards him, wrapped his arm around his neck and started tickling him on his sides. Jongin started shrieking for mercy, receiving a couple of glares and a few harsh words from bystanders.

“Stop, Chanyeol! Stop!”

He was laughing so hard there were tears streaming down his face, while his fist was weakly hitting Chanyeol’s arm. “Do you surrender?” Chanyeol asked, a winning smile on his handsome face. “I do, I do!” And Jongin was free, at last.

“I hate you so much right now,” he whined, catching his breath. Chanyeol, unrepentant, walked away, a big smile on his face: “Are you coming or not?” And Jongin, of course, followed.

 

_Le Panier district, 12:11 PM_

Chanyeol thought that Marseille’s morning sun particularly suited Jongin: warm and gentle, its rays seemed to caress his skin, eager to bring its golden color to life, and to play with his hair, setting fire to it in a blinding display of beauty. They had been wandering around the narrow streets of _Le Panier_ for a while now, going up and down the many staircases, charmed by its old buildings painted in muted colors with brightly colored doors, amazed by the art displayed everywhere: on the walls, inside little ateliers and workshops, in the way people moved, talked, lived.

Jongin was completely fascinated by it all, Chanyeol could tell: he had been stopping outside every little art shop they had come across, admiring the art pieces on display inside the windows, his eyes bright, his cheeks flushed, talking a mile a minute about colors, perspectives, techniques. Things that Chanyeol didn’t really understand, for he tended to judge a work of art by much more shallow standards - merely if he liked it or not -, but he loved looking at Jongin when he was so animated, so completely immersed in this world made of beauty and heartfelt feelings brought to life by a brushstroke. Somehow, the two of them tended to experience the world in the same way, looking at it through their art, hearts on their sleeves. Maybe this was one of the reasons why their friendship had grown so quickly and, at least in Chanyeol’s case, blossomed into something much deeper, like a flower nurtured by countless days spent together feeling like no one else could understand them but each other. Chanyeol was in love, and the happiness this feeling brought with it had filled his heart to the brim.

Jongin was now deep in conversation with an artist selling her paintings at the side of the road, trying to get his point across in his broken French interspersed with a few English words. Chanyeol left him to it and walked further down the road, suddenly opening on a small square. _Place Des Moulins_ , he read on a plaque; a few benches lined it, a fountain at its center. He sat down, soaking up the warm summer sun. A few more days and he would have a tan to show off once he went back home, he thought. Closing his eyes against the glare of the light, he rested his head against the bench, lost in his thoughts. He felt so calm and relaxed, as if all his worries had been left back in Korea once he boarded the plane. He smiled, thinking of how Jongin had spent most of the flight deep asleep on his shoulder. He had itched to take his hand in his own back then, to feel the shape of his fingers, the softness of his skin. How he wished he had been brave enough to do it, just to memorize the feeling and to store it in his heart, to take out in moments of need! But he remembered Jongin’s lovely face when he had started to wake up, his mussed hair, his flushed cheeks, his eyes still lost in the sweetness of slumber, and at that moment he had wished to be lucky enough to witness that spectacle every day for the rest of his life.

He was about to doze off, lost in his dream, when a thump beside him woke him up.

“Chanyeol, look what I bought!” Jongin trusted a small canvas under his nose. “Look at the colors, they are so vivid! And the light! Isn’t it amazing?” He was looking at it with an enamored look in his eyes, lightly tracing the details with his fingers. The canvas was painted with a lovely view of Marseille’s Old Port seen from above, and Chanyeol could understand why Jongin liked it so much: the love and care poured into it were apparent.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “How exactly are you going to bring it back home, though?”

“Well… I might have brought a nearly empty, small suitcase just for this purpose… Did you really think that I’d be able to resist buying new art coming here?” Jongin asked, incredulous. “It’s like you don’t know me at all,” he continued, a pout now adorning his mouth.

Chanyeol laughed. He should have known, really: they had planned to stay in France for only one week so two suitcases just for clothes were a bit too much, even for Jongin. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” He put his arm around Jongin’s shoulder, his friend still busy rolling up the canvas to safely store it in his bag. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“Only if you buy me lunch.”

“Deal!”

 

After a quick look at his travel app, Chanyeol led them to a restaurant boasting to serve real French cuisine at a small price. They spent a couple of hours there, gorging themselves on delicious _bouillabaisse_ and ending their lunch with a sweet _crème brûlée_.

“I’m so full I think if I were to fall down these steps I’d roll all the way down to the sea.”

Chanyeol laughed at Jongin’s words, feeling quite full himself. Their food had been amazing, tasty and so pleasant to the eyes he had to take a few pictures for his Instagram, uncaring of Jongin’s judging eyes. Their friends had already commented on some of his pictures, begging Chanyeol to bring them a few souvenirs from Europe. Chanyeol’s oldest friend, Junmyeon, who was actually the one who had introduced Jongin to Chanyeol, had made a very different request as soon as he had heard where the two of them were directed: he had asked Chanyeol to send him a postcard from every town they visited, claiming that nothing could replace the charm of a handwritten message. He was weird like that, considering he knew just how terrible Chanyeol’s handwriting was, and that all these postcards would reach Korea days after their return home.

They were now going back towards the sea, the roads less crowded than they were in the morning, having people taken refuge from the heat inside their homes or in air-conditioned shops and bars. They passed in front of a shop selling cheap souvenirs, and Chanyeol stopped there for a few minutes to choose a postcard to send back home to Junmyeon, as promised. He took care of not letting Jongin read the message he wrote, for he was afraid he would give everything away: Junmyeon was the only one of his friends to know just how deeply his feelings for Jongin ran, and he had been worried that this trip would hurt Chanyeol rather than do him any good if he didn’t decide to confess already. Luckily, the shop also sold stamps, so all he had to do was to buy a bunch of them – for all the future postcards he planned to send – and to leave his postcard inside the first mailbox he found on his way.

“Only Junmyeon could ask you to send him postcards,” Jongin laughed. “What did you write to him, anyway?”

“Ah,” Chanyeol rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed at the thought of what he had written to his friend. “Just… You know. Stuff. Not important.”

Jongin squinted in his direction. “You are keeping something from me, aren’t you?”

“No… It’s just… Something between me and Junmyeon.” He avoided looking in Jongin’s direction, thus missing the jealous expression that took over his face.

“Of course.” Jongin was now sporting his infamous pout, the one that made Chanyeol feel weak at the knees from just how cute it was.

“I’ll buy you ice-cream?” Chanyeol proposed, tentatively.

Jongin glared at him and stalked ahead, leaving him alone and confused. _What just happened?_

 

 _Cathédrale Sainte-Marie-Majeure_ , _3:17 PM_

White domes suddenly appeared between the crowded buildings, reflecting the light and shining like spun sugar under the sun, framed by the bluest sky Jongin had ever seen. He started running, eager to reach the end of the road that opened out on _Place de la Major_. Behind him he could hear Chanyeol calling his name, asking him to wait up, but Jongin pretended not to hear him, still irritated at Chanyeol’s refusal of telling him what he had written to Junmyeon.

He knew he was being childish, that Chanyeol was under no obligation of telling him everything going on in his life, but his heart had felt so _small_ at Chanyeol’s words, it had hurt so much to be dismissed like that, to be reminded that Chanyeol had someone in his life he loved more than he loved Jongin, someone he didn’t keep anything from, someone who would always come first. For a moment he had felt like every fantasy he had ever had of being something more for Chanyeol had been just that, a fantasy, with no chance of ever becoming reality. And then the jealousy had hit him hard. He didn’t like this side of himself, he didn’t like to show it to others, so he had left Chanyeol behind to calm down, to clear his head from those depressing thoughts, to remind himself he needed to be positive about the future of their relationship.

Just as he was about to reach the end of the road, a hand grabbed him by the wrist and forcefully turned him around, almost managing in making him lose his balance.

“Jongin!” Chanyeol panted, out of breath. “Why did you start running like that?! Was it for what I said? I swear it was nothing important, Jongin, please don’t be mad at me,” he pleaded.

Jongin felt like an asshole at those words. He had only thought about his feelings and discarded Chanyeol’s, who had done nothing wrong.

“I was just eager to reach the cathedral, Chanyeol, I’m sorry if I worried you,” he said, hoping it was enough to reassure him.

“Let’s go together, then.” And with that he took Jongin’s hand in his own and led him towards the church.

Surprised, Jongin glanced at Chanyeol’s face, noticing the light blush that had bloomed across his cheeks and ears, and blushed a bit himself.  He tightened his hold on Chanyeol’s hand, warm and callused by too many hours spent playing the guitar, and smiled to himself. It was incredible how such a small gesture had the power to turn his mood around, but that was the hold that Chanyeol unknowingly held over him: his sweet Chanyeol, with his softness and kindness, with his big eyes and bigger smiles. Jongin’s heart hadn’t stood a chance.

 

They sat for a while in the square that surrounded the church; Jongin had taken out his sketchbook and had started drawing a few details of the cathedral, completely immersed in his work, excited by the challenge he was facing.

After some time he registered that Chanyeol had wandered off, probably bored out of his mind. He felt bad for his friend, he hadn’t traveled with him to the other side of the world just to be ignored. He was about to pack his sketchbook and go look for him, when a shadow suddenly appeared in front of him, shielding him from the unrelenting sun of midafternoon. He looked up, and there was Chanyeol, an ice-cream to his lips, another one held out towards Jongin.

“I got you strawberry and chocolate, hope it’s okay.”

And of course it was, thought Jongin. He knew perfectly well those were his two favorite flavors.

“Thank you, Chanyeol,” he smiled, and accepted the sweet treat offered to him.

Chanyeol sat down next to him and they ate their cones in silence, enjoying the company and the view.

Chanyeol finished eating before him and asked Jongin if he could take a look at his drawings. Jongin had always been pretty shy about his art, but he knew it was good, and this was Chanyeol, he had no problems showing it to him (on the other hand, his more… anatomical correct drawings were another matter entirely. Sehun insisted he just liked to draw porn, despite Jongin correcting him time and time again that being able to correctly draw the human body was a skill every artist should refine. It wasn’t porn, it was _art_ , there was a world of difference! So why won’t you show it to Chanyeol, Sehun had asked once. At that, Jongin had quickly changed the subject).

While Chanyeol leafed through the book, Jongin lost himself a bit staring at his profile, with his straight nose, his full lips, his cute ears sticking out under his snapback. But Chanyeol’s feature he loved the most were his eyes: big, expressive, always so warm and kind. He sighed and resumed eating his ice-cream before it melted completely in his hands.

He was about to put the last bit of his cone in his mouth when he felt a feather-like touch on his cheek.

“You have a pencil smear on your cheek,” explained Chanyeol, sheepishly.

“Oh.”

Jongin’s brain short-circuited: Chanyeol’s hand was still on his cheek, now almost cupping it, and his face was moving closer and closer, his eyes fixed on Jongin’s lips. _Is this really happening_ , he wondered, an army of butterflies taking flight in his stomach. He gulped and licked his lips, he could almost feel Chanyeol’s breath on his face…

A loud squawk behind them made them jump apart, startled by the loud noise. A seagull was looking at them with a malicious glint in its beady eyes, proud of its little moment of glory. Jongin shooed it away with more vehemence than necessary, but, alas, it was all for nothing: the moment had been broken, and Chanyeol had quickly got up and walked away, shouting behind him that he needed to buy some water and that he would be back soon.

 

The rest of the afternoon had been filled with awkward silence. Jongin, too shy and insecure to bring up what had – almost – happened, was starting to believe that it had all been a product of his imagination: maybe he had spent too much time under the July sun and it had messed up with his head. They had spent the afternoon and a good portion of the evening wandering around the port, enjoying the sight of the blue sea turning golden under the last rays of the day, dusk slowly turning to night, the hundreds lights of the streetlamps twinkling on the water below in a mockery of the stars above, the two forts standing one in front of the other, guarding the entrance of the port, illuminated by soft, warm lights.

Chanyeol was walking beside him, his eyes fixed on his phone, when he suddenly stopped. Jongin, who had been lost in his thoughts, didn’t notice right away. After a few steps, he heard Chanyeol calling him, a note of enthusiasm in his voice.

“Jongin! Let’s stop here to eat something!” He pointed his finger towards a bar named _La Caravelle_. “My phone says that they serve good food and have live music. Please, Jongin?”

How could Jongin say no to those eyes?

 

Inside, they were led by a smiling waitress to a small table on the terrace of the bar with a beautiful view of the port and of _Notre Dame de la Garde_ , the church protecting the city from above. They ordered a bit of everything, cheeses and smoked salmon, focaccias and cold cuts, washed down with a couple of delicious cocktails, the atmosphere made more magical by the notes of the piano music coming from inside, muffled by the noise of the street below and of the waves breaking down against the mole.

This stop had been a good idea, thought Jongin. The tension had been broken just like that, as swept away by the light breeze blowing from the sea. They talked about what they had seen that day, about their plans for tomorrow, about everything and nothing, the warm summer night encouraging them to open their hearts to each other, just like summer nights were wont to do.

 

_Hotel Minerve, 1:11 AM_

Back at their hotel, Jongin asked to use the bathroom first, and Chanyeol let him. He was about to sit on his bed, tired from all the walking he had done that day, when he looked towards Jongin’s bed, placed right next to his own: incredulous, he stood up and walked the few steps separating them, grabbing the object that had drawn his attention. It was an old, battered teddy bear, small enough to fit in his palm, his black nose and eyes dulled by the wear of time, a cute, red bow tied around his neck, a few, rough stitches keeping his left arm attached to its body, proof of a surgery performed by hands still too small to properly handle a needle.

Chanyeol was still looking at the bear when Jongin came out of the bathroom, the scent of his body wash filling up the room. “I can’t believe you brought it with you,” he said, lifting the toy in Jongin’s direction.

A couple of steps and Jongin was on him, taking his beloved bear from his rough hands; he had always been insanely possessive of his furry friend. “Of course I brought him with me! He would have felt all alone back at the dorm, with no one to talk to!” He caressed the bear’s small head and placed it back on his pillow, just where Chanyeol had found him. Chanyeol laughed to himself; Jongin was too cute for his own good: he hadn’t spent a single night without his teddy bear since his grandma had gifted it to him for his fifth birthday, Chanyeol knew it well. He should have known he wouldn’t have left it back home, not even for a trip to another continent.

He left Jongin busy checking his phone and went to take a shower. The bathroom was rather small, and the shower stall even more so, he barely fit inside it. His elbows kept hitting the glass walls and washing his hair was proving to be a challenge. Lathering his chest, he thought back on what had happened that afternoon between him and Jongin, the urge of hitting his head against the tiled wall getting stronger the more he thought about it. It had been a stupid ass move, there were no other words for it. He had no idea whether Jongin liked him like that, kissing him out the blue in the middle of a busy square would have been a recipe for disaster, he just knew it. In that sense, the interference of that bird had been providential: Chanyeol had woken up from his trance and, panicking, had run as far away from temptation as he could.

He knew now that maybe that move hadn’t been that smart: when he had gone back to Jongin he had found him in another one of his moody states, and he was too much of a coward to ask him what had caused it: was he mad because Chanyeol had tried to kiss him? Was he mad because he hadn’t? Was he mad for a whole other reason? Chanyeol was really confused.

They had kept walking around the old city center, the atmosphere so awkward between them that Chanyeol had to turn to his last resort: texting Junmyeon. It was a long shot: it would have been past four in the morning back home, but Chanyeol had counted on his friend pulling an all-nighter to revise his thesis. And he had been right, Junmyeon had answered after a few minutes, wondering why Chanyeol was texting him instead of having fun in France.

He was grateful for his friend, he thought, washing away the suds from his body, but he would have been even more grateful if he hadn’t laughed at him via KakaoTalk for a good while before, finally, deciding to help him. The idea of taking Jongin to eat something in a nice place to break the ice had been his, Chanyeol was reluctant to admit. He was utterly hopeless in matters of the heart; on the other hand, Junmyeon, who had been lucky enough to be noticed by Sehun without too much effort, believed himself to be the next Casanova. Still, he had more experience than him, so Chanyeol had no choice but to listen to his advice. And he had been good, he had to admit. Things had gone back to how they were before, the tension broken and the awkwardness swept away.

He stepped out of the stall to dry himself, looking at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. He had the faintest reddening on his nose, in a spot his sunscreen had left uncovered. Scrunching his nose, he rubbed at it with his hand and moved to brush his teeth – luckily the hotel room had come with complimentary soaps and toothbrushes, he had forgotten to buy one when he landed. Despite trying to distract himself with thoughts of what they would be seeing the next day, his mind kept circling relentlessly around the same subject: Jongin. He had to find a way to confess his feelings to him while they were still in France, it would be the most romantic thing _ever_ , just like in the romcoms he secretly – or so he thought – liked to watch. Nodding resolutely to his reflection, he promised himself to find just the right, no, the _perfect_ time to do so, and hoped that Jongin would not reject him and his feelings.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the places I've described in this story are real - well, apart from the hotels. I’ve spent a lot of time just planning Jongin and Chanyeol's journey, from the places they would be visiting, to the logistics of it - you could actually use this story as an itinerary to visit France.  
> 


	3. Chapter Two

 

 

_July 20th, Marseille, just outside their hotel, 7:45 AM_

Jongin was _not_ a morning person. Pursing his lips, he tried to keep up with his best friend, who had already crossed the street to reach the nearest tram stop. All that cheerfulness first thing in the morning was just _unholy_. He felt so sleepy his thoughts were all jumbled up, his head full of cotton. Sighing, he joined Chanyeol, who was – honest to God – jumping up and down in place, as if all the energy he had stored in his body had to be let out one way or another.

“Are you sure you don’t want a coffee? It might help you to wake up.”

He kept moving in place, leaning out of the platform to check if their tram was in sight, glancing at his phone to see the time, worried about their possible lateness to the appointment with the car renter.

Jongin honestly felt like crying. A coffee, really? He only drank that godawful stuff as his last resort when he had to cram a week of studying in just one day, there was no way he was going to ruin his day with that black slop when there was absolutely no need.

“No, thank you. I’ll just sleep in the car on our way to Aix-en-Provence.”

“What? I thought we agreed you would drive.”

The rattling of the tram on the railway could faintly be heard, getting stronger and stronger as it neared them.

“Are you so irresponsible that you would make me drive in this state?” Jongin asked, turning the full force of his half-closed stare towards Chanyeol, who burst out laughing.

“Oh, my God, you look like you haven’t slept in days!”

Jongin tried to kick him in the leg, but Chanyeol jumped away just in time. “I would have slept more if _someone_ hadn’t decided to grace my ears all night with his snoring!”

“What?! I don’t snore! Baekhyun would have told me if I snored!” His offended expression was quite comical. Jongin felt a tiny bit of satisfaction settling in his belly, Chanyeol could be so vain that finding a new, tiny flaw in himself always led him to have a small breakdown.

“That’s because Baekhyun would sleep through an earthquake!”

They kept bickering all the way to the rental place, gaining a few stares along the way. The guy who gave them the keys of their little car seemed a bit unwilling to part with them, his nervousness showing in the way he kept looking back and forth between the two of them, unsure whether the two Asian men were simply having a discussion or outright fighting.

Finally in the car, Jongin settled down in his seat, while Chanyeol typed the name of their destination on the GPS. Then, he fixed the rear-view mirror and his seat – to accommodate his long legs -, started the car, and they were out of the parking lot.

At the first traffic light, Chanyeol looked sideways at Jongin, just to find out he was already looking at him. They burst out laughing, their giggles filling up the car while Chanyeol maneuvered it through Marseille morning traffic, Jongin thinking there was no way he would be able to catch some sleep in the car, he would much rather prefer gazing at Chanyeol’s profile all the way to Aix-en-Provence.

 

_Aix-en-Provence, Cours Mirabeau, 9:19 AM_

Finding a parking space in the city center had proved to be harder than expected: it was packed with tourists strolling up and down _Cours Mirabeau_ , sheltered from the sweltering heat by the tall trees on both sides of the road; countless coffee shops and bistros lined the boulevard, along with beautiful, old buildings once owned by the richest families of Aix; one of them, now known as the _Hôtel Maurel-de-Pontevés_ , had its entrance adorned by two Atlases **,** considered the symbol of the Baroque opulence of Aix.

Jongin had chosen this town for one specific reason: it was tied to the story of one of the most important French painters, Paul Cézanne, who here had lived and died. In one of the many books Jongin had read about French art, an entire chapter had been dedicated to him and one quote in particular had struck Jongin **:** _“When you’re born there, it’s hopeless, nothing else is good enough”_. Now that Jongin had seen it with his own eyes, he thought there might be some truth in Cézanne’s words: the town had a quiet kind of charm, with its low buildings, the many fountains, and the _light_ , oh, that beautiful, unique light of Provence, so predominant in Cézanne’s work, was, alone, worth traveling to Aix.

A pedestrian route marked by studs stumped with Cézanne initials guided the tourists to the discovery of those landmarks that had been important in the life of the artist, like his childhood home, his schools, or the cafés where he spent time with his friends. The route was long and touched so many places it was impossible for the two of them to follow it from start to finish: they had programmed to spend just a few hours in Aix, so Jongin had decided to stop at those two landmarks he wouldn’t miss for the world: _l’Atelier de Cézanne_ and _le Terrain des Peintres_ , a hill with a beautiful view of the Sainte Victoire mountain where Cézanne went regularly to paint, the mountain itself the main character of many of his works.

Chanyeol was walking beside him, an expression of such serene tranquility on his face Jongin had rarely seen before: at that moment he realized under just how much stress Chanyeol was at home, always running back and forth between his part-time job and the university, always studying or playing his guitar, with so little time to dedicate to himself or his friends, but he did everything with such grace, with such a positive attitude, that Jongin had never thought to ask him if he was tired, if sometimes he wanted to stop and recharge for a little while. He was happy Chanyeol had accepted to come with him to France, happier than before, even, because he understood, now, the real value of this trip: for him, the fulfilment of his biggest dream; for Chanyeol, the chance to rest, to slow down for a week, to free his mind from all those things that had clattered it before, leaving him with so little energy to do anything else but work and study. He felt, stronger than ever, the urge to take Chanyeol’s hand, to guide him through the mass of people until they found a secluded space, a little oasis just for the two of them, where he could rest, sleep for a while, not think about anything but the here and now.

“Chanyeol…”

“Mh?” He turned towards Jongin, hitting him with the full force of his beautiful eyes turned to honey by the light of the Provençal sun.

Jongin didn’t know what had pushed him to whisper his name, he hadn’t even thought Chanyeol would hear: but his heart was full of so much love for him, with so much adoration for this wonderful, wonderful man, it was like his feelings had overflowed, no longer contained inside the cage of his ribs. They had escaped from his lips in the shape of a whispered name, so beautiful and dear, truly the loveliest name in the world.

“Chanyeol… Chanyeol, I…” He gulped, his eyes fixed on Chanyeol’s, who was probably wondering why Jongin had stopped in the middle of a busy sidewalk just to stare at him like a fool. He moved closer to Chanyeol and placed his hand on his arm, his skin so soft and warm under the light pressure of his fingers, gathering all the courage he could find flowing in his body just to utter three words, three tiny words that put together formed a sentence so brief but so powerful, the scariest, most fundamental sentence a human being could tell another.  

He was so lost gazing at Chanyeol’s eyes that he didn’t notice right away the panicked expression that took over his face; one moment his hand was lightly touching Chanyeol’s arm, the next he felt Chanyeol grab his arms to forcefully move him aside, away from the path of a reckless cyclist who, indifferent to the danger he could constitute for the pedestrians, had decided that riding on the sidewalk was a perfectly good solution to avoid getting stuck in traffic.

“Fucking idiot!” Chanyeol yelled at him, enraged, but the guy was already too far away to hear.

Jongin, in all of this, was feeling a bit dazed: he had been on the verge of finally confessing his feelings to Chanyeol when he had unexpectedly found himself pushed to the side and against Chanyeol’s chest, just to see, over his friend’s shoulder, a bike speed down the sidewalk, barely avoiding crushing against the many passersby.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol uttered against his ear. And it was like, with those words, the enchantment Jongin had been under broke. Blushing furiously, he freed himself from Chanyeol’s hold, and, muttering something – he wasn’t even sure what –, he nodded and resumed walking towards their destination, embarrassed beyond belief by his pathetic failure.

_L’Atelier de Cézanne, 10:03 AM_

Cézanne’s studio was located inside a pavilion in the middle of a garden, built after the death of the painter’s mother. Or, at least, that’s what Chanyeol’s app said. He supposed he could always ask Jongin about these little anecdotes, he seemed to know everything about the artist, even more than their guide. Despite this, his friend was so engrossed listening to the tale their guide was spinning in front of them Chanyeol was reluctant to bother him. Truth be told, he wasn’t all that interested in learning everything there was to know about Cézanne’s life, being inside his studio was more than enough to understand his work and personality. Everything was left as if the painter had just stepped outside for a moment, maybe to get inspired by the view of Aix’s countryside, and was about to be back to resume his work. The room was flooded with light entering through the big windows, the trees of the garden visible just beyond the glass, giving the illusion of finding yourself inside a tree house.

The painter’s belongings were scattered all over the place: pottery he used in his still-lives, a plaster Cupid, his clothes, his work tools… and three skulls on a bench. He had to look that up.

He moved behind Jongin, who was still enraptured by what the lady accompanying their group was saying. He sighed; Jongin looked so pretty today, with his yellow t-shirt, the messy hair, and that pair of jeans Chanyeol loved and hated: they fit him so well and showed off his long legs and ass, but they also had the cutest little bear sewed on one of the back pockets. How could someone be that hot and cute at the same time? He sighed again. He had been doing an awful lot of sighing around Jongin lately.

Turning his head away from temptation, he caught one of the girls in their group staring insistently at Jongin, her mouth open in wonderment. Glaring at her, he blocked her sight, hiding Jongin with his body. She seemed to wake up from her daydreaming, closed her mouth with a snap, and threw him a withering look, not expecting to find him already staring at her with furrowed brows. Blushing slightly, she huffed and turned away, pretending to be interested in what her mother was telling her in hushed whispers.

Satisfied, he pulled Jongin closer to him with an arm on his shoulders, earning himself a blinding smile from his friend.

_On the road to le Terrain des Peintres, 10:57 AM_

“Can you believe it, Chanyeol? We were inside Cézanne’s studio! Ah, I can’t believe it! He painted _Les grandes baigneuses_ there! In that room! I feel like crying.” Jongin covered his face with his hands, to hide the fact that there really were tears gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t believe how strong the wave of emotions that had hit him as soon as they had left the studio behind was. To be able to stand inside that room, where one of his favorite painters had worked for years and had painted some of his masterpieces… He sniffed, overwhelmed, and bit his lips, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Jongin…”

“I don’t even know why I’m crying!” he exclaimed, embarrassed.

He was about to dry the tears that were making their way down his cheeks, but before he could move, Chanyeol came to him and hugged him close, resting his cheek on top of Jongin’s head. “Jonginnie… Please, there is no need to justify yourself. Cry if you want to, and when you’re done I’ll be here to make you smile again.”

Jongin hugged him tight around the waist and hid his face against his shoulder. “What have I done to deserve you?”

“People don’t deserve each other, silly. But, if you’re wondering how you won me over… Well, I was pretty much sold as soon as you asked me in which Hogwarts House I thought I would be sorted into.”

Jongin laughed a bit against his chest. His tears had stopped, but he was reluctant to leave the safe haven of Chanyeol’s arms. “I’m still convinced you would positively _thrive_ in Hufflepuff.”

“Hufflepuff?! No way, I’m a Gryffindor through and through!”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” He freed his face from Chanyeol’s shoulder and finally looked at him. He had such a light in his eyes, sweet and tender, and a smile on his lips.

Before Jongin could say anything else, Chanyeol dried the tears still gathered at the corner of his eyes and kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s go, we have a schedule to follow!” he exclaimed, raising his arm and pointing his finger in the direction of their next – and last – stop in Aix. Then, he took Jongin by his wrist and dragged him onwards. Reeling from the kiss, Jongin blinked a few times and tripped a bit over his own feet before righting himself and following his friend.

 

_Le Terrain des Peintres, 11:21 AM_

From the top of the hill the view over the Sainte Victoire mountain was spectacular: a sea of green, dotted here and there by small, white houses, suddenly interrupted by a majestic range, placed in the middle of the countryside as if forgotten there by mistake. The subject of so many of Cézanne’s paintings was right there, so close Jongin had the impression that if he just stretched his arm far enough he would be able to feel under his fingers its white surface warmed by sunlight.

 He itched to take out his sketchbook and his watercolors to fix on page what he was seeing. What stopped him was the guilt he felt towards Chanyeol: his friend was busy taking a few pictures of the view, enthusiastically praising how beautiful it was, how charming the Provençal countryside looked from up there. But Jongin was sure he would bore quite quickly of the view, preferring to keep moving rather than stay still in the same place with nothing to do for an hour or more. Sighing, he decided he would have to paint the scenery when he’d find a moment of tranquility, maybe tomorrow on the train to Toulouse. He took out his phone and shoot a few pictures, pouting a bit: they looked decent enough, but still, painting something while it stood right in front of your eyes was a totally different thing.

“Chanyeol, if you want we can start to go back to the city center, we can have something to eat here in Aix and then move to Valensole.”

At his words, Chanyeol turned towards him, confused. “Aren’t you going to stop here and paint for a while? It’s the perfect spot! The view is spectacular, look at those tiny houses in the distance! They look like pebbles!”

Jongin was stunned: did Chanyeol know him so well he figured out what was the thing he desired the most? He hesitated, unsure. He really wanted to try and paint the view, but Chanyeol… They had already lost so much time yesterday in Marseille just because Jongin wanted to sketch the cathedral, it wasn’t fair to his friend.

“Jongin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! It’s just… Are you sure you don’t mind? Waiting around like this for me to finish my sketches… I don’t want you to get bored, or to feel like this is no vacation at all! You didn’t come here to watch me work,” he blubbered on, the guilt settling in his stomach like a stone.

“Nini, what are you talking about?” He came closer to him, confusion clear in his voice. “This is _your_ trip, Jongin. You have dreamed to come here since God knows how long! I am not bored, or annoyed, or any other negative thing you’re convincing yourself of right now. I’m happy to be here with you! I’m happy you’re so inspired by what you’re seeing you’re itching to get to work. Don’t you think I’d be the last person to resent you for that?” He smiled, got behind Jongin and pushed him towards a bench under the shelter of a tree. “Sit here, take out your book and your colors and get to work. I’ll be here waiting for you to finish, don’t worry about anything else.”

Jongin loved him so much. “Chanyeol…”

“Mh?”

“Thank you.”

He winked and sat down on a patch of grass at Jongin’s feet. “You’re welcome.”

 

Jongin couldn’t say how much time had passed since he had taken his brush in hand and started working; in true Jongin’s fashion, his concentration was only broken by the loud grumbling of his stomach.

“Ah, I’m so hungry,” he mumbled, pressing a hand against his belly. Placing his book and watercolors on the seat beside him, he stretched his arms and moved his head side to side, his neck and shoulders stiff from too much time spent bent over his work. The tourists who had been up there with them when they arrived had since wandered off, and now the hill was empty except for him and Chanyeol, who had fallen asleep on the grass beside the bench Jongin was sitting on, under the shadow of their tree. He looked like a nymph caught unaware by the eyes of an artist, so beautiful he would have fit perfectly in one of Alma-Tadema or Waterhouse’s paintings.

Quietly, without waking him, Jongin slid to the ground, turned to a blank page in his sketchbook, and started drawing. This wasn’t the first time he drew Chanyeol, but he had never drawn him while asleep, his face relaxed, the expression serene, eyes chasing dreams.

 

Chanyeol was woken up from his nap by something tickling his nose. He swatted it away, believing it to be a fly, and was ready to go back to sleep, but the tickling started again, this time accompanied by loud giggles. Smiling, he opened his eyes, and there it was the source of the giggling: Jongin was laying on the ground beside him and had one of his brushes in his hand, ready to attack Chanyeol’s nose again if he didn’t wake up.

“Jonginnie…” he whined, pretending to be irritated. “Why did you wake me up?” He stretched his body from his toes to his fingertips, missing the way Jongin was gazing at the sliver of his belly his movement had left uncovered.

“I’m hungry, Chanyeol! My tummy hurts!” He was so dramatic, eyes wide and misleadingly innocent, pleading Chanyeol to feed him, now.

“Ah, your tummy hurts? Poor baby! Now, we can’t have that, right?” He stretched his arm and started petting Jongin’s hair, so smooth and soft and… and that was a twig. Or was it a leaf? “You have stuff in your hair,” he told him, showing him his finding.

Opening his eyes wide, Jongin quickly sat up and frantically started running his fingers through his hair, swearing under his breath, Chanyeol’s laughter ringing loudly in the background.

 

_Valensole, 3:37 PM_

They drove to Valensole after a quick lunch and an even quicker search for a postcard in Aix. The town was, at first glance, quite unassuming, perched on top of its plateau, small and sleepy. And yet, today it was crammed with tourists coming to gaze upon what Valensole treasured as its most precious possession: its immense lavender fields, stretching as far as the eye could see, interrupted by patches of golden wheat.

Today the town was buzzing with excitement, tourists and locals alike were reversed in the streets for the most important event of the year in Valensole: the Lavender Festival. The town center was full of beautiful, old houses, some of them with wrought-iron balconies, colored in the colors of Provence. Everything was rendered more charming by the inebriating fragrance of lavender floating in the air.

Chanyeol and Jongin wandered the narrow streets of the town amazed at the variety of products displayed on the stands, most of them boasting lavender blossoms as the main ingredient: soaps, honey, perfumes, nougat, cakes, biscuits, and so much more that just one afternoon wouldn’t be enough to try everything.

“Jongin, do you think my mom would like these?” Chanyeol asked, pointing to bars of handmade lavender soap arranged inside a little wicker basket. He didn’t want to bring home the usual souvenirs, he’d much rather gift his family something pretty and useful.

“I think she’d love them. I was thinking about buying a few myself, for my mom and sisters. Oh, and maybe a few bottles of perfume, too”.

“Right, I should buy something for Yoora, too.”

They spent a couple of hours between the stands tasting all the food they offered, then stopping to listen to a group of folk musicians playing their instruments in a small square, women dressed in traditional clothes dancing in front of them, beautiful smiles on their faces. They were two city boys, who had never experienced what living in a small town was like, utterly enchanted by the atmosphere breathed among the old houses of Valensole, where happiness seemed so much more attainable than in a city made of steel and concrete.

 

There was a road overlooking the wide expanse of lavender fields west of the town. The sidewalk was large enough to house a few iron-cast benches, and Chanyeol and Jongin sat there to eat what they had bought at the festival while enjoying the view of the countryside. Honey, bread, cheese, everything was so simple yet so tasty, so heady and fragrant, Chanyeol felt like he had never eaten anything as good before.  He never wanted this day to end: the food, the scenery, the sweet smell of lavender in the air, Jongin beside him, everything was perfect, almost _too_ perfect, his heart felt so full he feared it would burst. He was so glad they had decided to stop in this tiny town, away from the usual touristic spots, to experience something so lovely, so utterly wonderful, something so warm and soft it wrapped your heart like a heavy blanket. The light of the sunset was setting fire to the golden wheat in the far-away fields, a sight of the likes of Chanyeol had never seen before. Oh, how he wished for his guitar to play with it the music he could feel in his heart.

So immersed he was in the beauty displayed before his eyes, he almost didn’t notice the hand that brushed lightly against his ear. He turned towards his companion and his heart skipped a bit: there he was, his perfect love, framed by the light of the setting sun, eyes shining brightly and only looking at him.

“I think it suits you,” Jongin said, pointing at Chanyeol’s ear.

Confused, he brought his hand up to his temple just to find a lavender twig Jongin had left there. Heat rose quickly to his cheeks and to cover his embarrassment he closed his eyes, brought his hands under his chin in the cutest pose he could master with such a turmoil in his heart and asked Jongin to take a picture of him, which he gladly did. They kept taking pictures of each other and of the view, uncaring of the night quickly approaching, too lost in each other and in their happiness to care about the long hours of driving awaiting them. Jongin was amusing himself decorating Chanyeol’s hair with all the lavender blossoms he could find and Chanyeol let him, of course he did, he would do anything to bring a smile to his face, and if what Jongin wanted was to fill Chanyeol’s hair with flowers like he had filled his heart with love, well, who was Chanyeol to stop him?

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Three

_July 21th, Toulouse, 11:13 AM_

They called it _La Ville Rose_.

The reason why was clear: walking from the train station to their hotel, the majority of the old buildings Jongin’s gaze had fallen upon were built using a distinctive pink stone the likes of which he had never seen before. He couldn’t wait to see the sunset setting fire to these old stones.

Today he was feeling particularly refreshed: last night they had returned to their hotel in Marseille quite late, but he had been able to catch up on some sleep during the long train journey from Marseille to Toulouse. Now he was buzzing with nervous energy thinking of what awaited them: he had been looking forward to this particular day since he had started planning their trip, a few months ago. He just hoped Chanyeol would like the surprise.

After a quick rest at their hotel to leave their luggage and refresh a bit, they hurried to catch the bus that would take them to their destination. Chanyeol kept pestering Jongin to know where they were headed, but Jongin kept silent, partially because he didn’t want to spoil the surprise, mostly because he was so nervous he might just throw up if he opened his mouth.

“Chanyeol, we’re almost there, just be patient for a few minutes, please!”

Chanyeol’s pout was quite a rare sight – and quite a pretty one, at that –  but Jongin wouldn’t be swayed, no way! He had worked too hard to keep all this a secret, he wouldn’t ruin everything just because Chanyeol was using his puppy dog eyes on him. He was adorable, of course, and resisting him was proving to be harder than expected, but Jongin was stronger than that, he had to be!

He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as their stop approached, ready to get off the overcrowded bus and to see Chanyeol’s face once he realized where they were. The bus screeched to a halt and most of the people inside it hurried to get off, clearly headed the same way as Jongin and Chanyeol. The latter, dying to know where Jongin had brought him, was among the first ones to get off, Jongin further behind. He was afraid he would not reach Chanyeol in time before he started running off towards the attractions, but, quite surprisingly, he found him standing still before the entrance, people moving around him like cars around a traffic divider, mouth open, eyes wide, glasses askew on his nose.

Jongin approached him and stopped beside him, looking at his face and then towards the gate.

“So… Surprise?”

No reaction. Jongin was starting to feel uncomfortable. Had he gotten everything wrong? He had been so sure Chanyeol would have liked this. Feeling a bit bummed out, he averted his eyes. “If you don’t like it we can go back and visit the city, I thought…” His words were cut out by Chanyeol hugging him tightly to his chest, shouting in elation.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he mumbled, his face tucked against Jongin’s neck, his glasses painfully digging under his chin. Before Jongin could return the hug, Chanyeol released him and dashed beyond the gate, shouting to Jongin to get a move on already. Beaming, Jongin ran after him, right into the heart of _La Cité de l’Espace_.

 

 

_La Cité de l’Espace, 11:41 AM_

Chanyeol hadn’t always been interested in astronomy: rather, it was quite a recent – and accidental - discovery. Last year, back home for Christmas break, he had found himself alone in the house, bored out of his mind. It was one of those days where nothing seemed to be entertaining enough and boredom was inevitable. He had settled down on the couch with his dog, Toben, cuddled on his lap, a cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table, ready to shut down his brain for a while watching some reality show on tv. Unfortunately, zapping from one channel to another, nothing was able to catch his attention for more than a few minutes. He was debating whether it would just be better to shut everything off and take a nap until dinner time, when his eyes finally focused on a hypnotic video of the Earth taken from space.

Chanyeol spent a couple of hours watching what later he had discovered to be a documentary on the Milky Way produced by NASA. Just like that, he had found himself a new obsession: in the following days, he had visited the local library many times, taking and returning several books about the stars and the universe, feeling like a child who had just discovered that yes, there were other planets besides their own. He had also been lucky enough to find on the web a good deal for a used telescope, and that’s the story of how he had returned to his dorm with it under his arm, to Baekhyun’s utter consternation: at that point, he was used to having their room invaded by Chanyeol’s bulky hobbies, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

Jongin had agreed a few times to go stargazing with him on the riverside, but Seoul’s light pollution was too heavy to allow them to see much more than the moon and a few stars. He dreamed of finally buying his own car and driving to the country, Jongin at his side, to observe all the constellations he had memorized from his books. It would be _so_ romantic: he and Jongin, alone under a sea of stars.

Instead, Jongin had been the one to surprise him that day: he had been mysterious about their third-day destination since the start, but Chanyeol hadn’t paid much attention to it. To tell the truth, he had completely forgotten about it, knowing that Jongin was the one organizing everything and trusting him with the preparations. So, when that morning Jongin had refused to tell him where they were headed, he had been intrigued by all this secrecy and had started pestering his poor friend, who, quite surprisingly, had managed to keep shush about it. When the bus they had been on had stopped, Chanyeol had hurried to get off, eager to find out where in the world Jongin had taken him. He didn’t speak French, so the writing on the gate standing in front of him didn’t tell him much, but the huge rocket he could see over the wall…Well, that spoke for itself.

He had wondered and wondered, but he could have never expected Jongin to bring him to this amazing place, to take time from his long-awaited trip to France just to allow Chanyeol to nerd out over rocket ships and moon rocks inside Toulouse’s City of Space.

He had started running as soon as he had realized where he was, but then he had suddenly stopped, overwhelmed: too many things to see and experience, he had no idea where to start. He was still standing there like an idiot when a hand gripped his own tight and dragged him towards one of the first buildings on the left.

 

Chanyeol hadn’t had so much fun in years: everywhere he looked there was something new to try, something amazing to marvel at with the same enthusiasm as a child.

“Jongin! It’s a moon rock! A real moon rock! Look at it, look!”

He dragged Jongin in front of a glass case, almost smashing his nose against it in the heat of the moment. “It says that it’s on loan from NASA and that it was brought to Earth by the crew of the Apollo 15!”

He heard Jongin laughing at his side, and then he felt a pat on his back. “I bet you’re sporting the same expression I had when looking at Cézanne’s easel”.

“Well, I wouldn’t know, I can’t really see it.” He jokingly tried to catch his reflection on the glass case, but to no avail, Jongin’s giggles repaying him of his efforts.

“Let’s go that way, I read there’s a piece of Mars awaiting you, star boy.” Jongin didn’t need to tell him twice.

 

After that, to Chanyeol’s utter delight, they tried the Moon Runner simulator. They were equipped with those bulky backpacks the astronauts of the Apollo 11 wore during their walk on the moon, firmly tied around their waists, to which were attached a couple of elastic ropes connected to a pulley on the ceiling. Or, at least, that’s what Chanyeol imagined, having tried, unsuccessfully, to catch sight of the mechanism in the darkness of the room. The experience was, for a lack of a better word, _fun_ : bouncing up and down like that, he almost had the same weird sensation he usually felt when dreaming of falling, but, this time, there was no fear to be felt. Jongin’s unmistakable laughter rang loudly in the room, accompanied by the sound of their feet repeatedly hitting the ground and the chatter of those awaiting their turn.

Once freed from their ropes, Jongin ran towards Chanyeol and dragged him into an impromptu dancing session, jumping up and down in circles, laughing without a care in the world, his eyes like crescent moons, and to Chanyeol he had never looked more beautiful. He laughed and jumped with him, not caring about looking ridiculous: they were having fun, they were being silly, and they were happy, nothing else mattered.

Panting, they came to a stop, leaning on each other’s shoulder to catch their breath. “That…was… the weirdest thing I’ve ever done, Chanyeol! Please, let’s do it again!”

Chanyeol was hit by the urge to pepper his face with kisses: over the sweet slope of his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. He shook himself out of it. “I thought maybe we could try the Siè—Siège… Damn it, it’s a spinning chair used to train astronauts to endure disorientation.”

Jongin’s eyes shined brightly under the artificial lights of the room. “Let’s go! It sounds fun!”

 

“That was _not_ fun,” whined Jongin, face buried in his arms, folded over the table they had claimed as their own in the cafeteria. “I feel _awful_. Chanyeol, please kill me, spare me this agony.”

Chanyeol rolled his eyes: Jongin was being a bit too overdramatic, nothing unusual. “Don’t be a baby, it’s just a bit of nausea. Here, drink this,” he said, sliding a glass of cold water towards Jongin’s end of the table.

Sniffing, Jongin lifted his head just the necessary amount to spy with one eye what was being offered to him. Scowling, he bent his head again, refusing Chanyeol’s offering. “I don’t want _water_ ,” he mumbled, woefully. Chanyeol sighed. “What do you want, then?” A moment of silence. “…Lemonade. Very cold. Please?”

Chanyeol knew he was pouting even if his face was still covered. Laughing to himself, he got up and moved to the counter, taken aback by the long queue that had formed in the meantime. Shrugging, he looked at the menu, thinking that while he was there he could very well order their lunch too. After a bit of struggle – language barriers be damned -, he managed to order a couple of sandwiches for himself and Jongin. Turning around, he spotted Jongin with his head still on the table. Now more worried than before – was it possible for him to still feel that nauseous? – he hurried to him, tray in his hands, just to catch him checking his phone from a gap between the table and his lap. Rolling his eyes - still nauseous, my ass -, he placed down the tray with a loud thump. His friend raised his head a tiny bit, just enough to let Chanyeol see his eyes, and watched with interest the food he had brought.

“Here is your lemonade,” said Chanyeol, sliding the glass towards Jongin, who sat upright, at last. “I also bought two sandwiches for lunch, hope it’s okay!” He smiled sweetly, and handed one to Jongin, gleefully anticipating his reaction. Trying not to grin like a lunatic, he unwrapped his sandwich and made a show of it, oohing and humming at its deliciousness, at how tender and tasty the chicken was, how crispy the lettuce, all of this without raising his eyes, feigning disinterest at Jongin’s reaction.

“Chanyeol…”

“What?” He asked, his mouth full of sweet, sweet chicken breast.

“…Did you—did you seriously buy me a veggie sandwich?”

“Of course, you told me you were feeling nauseous, it’s better not to eat heavy, greasy food when you’re feeling like that.” He kept munching away, impervious to Jongin’s expression of utter betrayal.

“But… But I feel better now, Chanyeol, see?” He pointed a finger to his face, as if to say _Look at me,_ _I’m the epitome of healthiness_.

Chanyeol kept looking at him, taking a bite of his sandwich here and there.

“Chanyeoool…” Puppy dog eyes at full blast. It wouldn’t be long before… And there it was, the infamous pout.

Sighing, a mischievous light in his brown eyes, Chanyeol said: “You had to think about the consequences before making me believe you were feeling that unwell just to not stand in the queue with me.”

The pout intensified. “I was feeling really unwell, Chanyeol! But I’m better now, I swear! Chanyeollie, please? I want chicken too!” He was slowly reaching out a hand in Chanyeol’s direction, aiming at his sandwich. He was sneaky like that. Swiftly, Chanyeol raised it beyond his reach. They kept bickering back and forth for a few minutes, their sandwiches left untouched on their table, their drinks getting warmer, but they were having fun, so that was okay. In the end, Chanyeol yielded, and shared half of his sandwich with Jongin, earning himself a beaming smile and a thank you said with a mouth full of chicken.

 

After their lunch, they moved towards the gardens of La Cité de l’Espace, which housed a series of reproductions of space stations and satellites that had made the history of outer space explorations.

“It says here that this is actually a prototype astronauts trained in for months before traveling to the real MIR station! Can you imagine being stuck in space for a year, Jongin?”

They started to go up the ramp that connected the station to the ground. “Just you and two other people, alone in space, with just each other to rely on should anything happen,” he shuddered. “I think I’d be going crazy, just think about it! And what if—what if one of you needs medical attention, then what?!” He widened his eyes, “What if one of you _dies_ up there just because you run out of—of—of aspirin or something dumb like that?!”

“Chanyeol…”

“What if one of you needs to do some reparations outside and you’re tethered to the station by just one flimsy rope and it breaks and you are lost in space forever?!”

“Chanyeol, thank God you didn’t decide to become an astronaut because I’m pretty sure they would have launched you in space with this attitude.”

“…You’re mean.”

“I’m realistic, there’s a difference.”

In the meantime, they had reached the station. White colored and with big, red Cyrillic writings on its flanks, it was composed of several modules attached together. Peering inside the first one, the first thing they noticed on their left was one of the two space toilets the station was equipped with. Chanyeol had always been curious about the more… mundane aspects of life as an astronaut, no lies about that. How did they eat, how did they sleep, how did they—well, how did they do _that_. It seemed pretty uncomfortable.

“That looks uncomfortable,” said Jongin.

“That’s what I thought!”

“Another good reason why it’s best for everyone you didn’t become an astronaut.”

“I have never dreamed of becoming an astronaut, why do you keep bringing it up?!” he half-yelled, scaring a couple of children walking ahead of them and earning himself a glare from their parents. Blushing, he turned to Jongin, a frown on his face, just to find him giggling like mad, leaning against one of the capsule’s panels. Looking at Chanyeol’s face seemed to set him off even harder.

“Are you quite done yet?” Chanyeol asked, rolling his eyes. What was so amusing about it, anyway? Jongin could be so fucking weird.

“Oh, Chanyeol, you should see your face,” he cackled, out of breath. “It’s so easy to get you riled up, it’s almost not funny anymore!”

Outraged, Chanyeol punched him in the arm and stormed off, set on continuing his tour alone.

“It was still worth it!” Jongin yelled, massaging his arm. Smiling, he trailed after him, knowing it wouldn’t be too long before Chanyeol forgave him. He always did, in the end.

 

After completing their tour of the MIR station – even Jongin had been fascinated by it, and Chanyeol couldn’t stop thinking about how hard the life of an astronaut truly was -, they spent a couple more hours between the Soyuz spaceship – you could actually sit inside it and feel like a real space explorer –, the Ariane 5 rocket – it was 53 meters high! –, and a copy of the Sputnik – the very first artificial satellite! At the end of their little tour, they were both begging for mercy: the day had only got hotter, and they had only got tired. By mutual agreement, they stopped for a while inside Le 149 Café for ice-cream and iced tea, before moving on towards their last stop of the day: the Planetarium. Chanyeol was particularly looking forward to it: its gigantic 600 square meters dome screen promised an almost real-life experience of outer space.

Settling down on their seats, they waited for the show to start. Jongin had taken out his phone and was messaging furiously with someone, sighing and frowning at the screen. Curious, Chanyeol leaned slightly on his left, trying to catch who Jongin was writing to, but got caught in the act. “What are you doing?” Jongin asked, suspicious.

_What to say, what to say, think, think, think._

“I’m… pretty tired, I was just thinking that… maybe I could rest on your shoulder for a bit?”

Chanyeol was _this_ far from slapping himself on the face. What kind of stupid excuse had come out of his mouth?! Now Jongin was looking at him with a baffled expression on his face, mouth open, his phone still in hand, probably frozen by the utter idiocy that had tumbled out of Chanyeol’s mouth. To think he had hoped this trip to France would have helped him to win Jongin’s affection: at this rate, the only thing he would win was a prize as idiot of the year.

“Never mind,” he laughed, moving back towards his backrest. “It was just a—spur of the moment kind of thing, I don’t know why I said that!” _Please, universe, this would be the perfect time to hit me with lightning_ , he thought, screaming internally. “Where do you want to eat tonight? Should we look for something near our hotel? Let me just check my app-"

He didn’t expect the hand that grabbed him and pulled him downward, nor to catch a glimpse of Jongin’s flustered face before his own was pressed against the soft fabric covering his friend’s shoulder, nor Jongin telling him he could rest there if he wanted, he didn’t mind. Blushing, he settled himself more comfortably, straightening his glasses and arranging his gangly limbs out of the way, thanking God Jongin couldn’t hear just how hard his heart was beating in his chest.

Discreetly, he glanced at Jongin’s profile, finding him focused on the dome they were sitting under, gazing at God knows what, considering the show hadn’t begun yet. The light flushing on his face – together with the small, satisfied smile he was now sporting– was a telltale sign of how much he really didn’t mind the situation Chanyeol had put them in: maybe his loud mouth had done him a favor for once. Inhaling Jongin’s scent – fabric softener, a hint of sweat, and the faint trace of his favorite perfume –, he smiled to himself just as the lights started to dim, a soothing voice started playing from the speakers, and the dome was lighted up by a thousand glittering stars.

 

Chanyeol had once wished to bring Jongin to stargaze with him, up on a hill far away from the bustling city they called their own, to show him his favorite constellations and see the light of the moon reflected in his eyes: at the time he had been thinking about actual stars and, well, fewer people around them, but this was close enough. Jongin was beside him – _Jongin was cuddling him!_ –, and for the first time in his life, Chanyeol felt like the world was at his feet. Butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach, he lightly brushed his pinkie against Jongin’s, before placing his hand over his friend’s. He felt Jongin tense under him, just for a second, and then tremble lightly, like a bird shaking away the cold on a clear winter morning, before turning his palm upside down and intertwining their fingers, holding on tight, and then softly letting go, as if to say _I’m here with you, don’t worry about anything else_. Or, at least, that’s what Chanyeol liked to believe.

 

_On a bus back to the city center, 8:42 PM_

The walk back towards the bus stop had been enveloped in comfortable silence. After the show inside the Planetarium had ended, they had headed towards the gift shop, Chanyeol set on splurging his hard-earned savings on whatever struck his fancy.

A map of the Milky Way, two books on cosmic discoveries, and an astronaut plushie later, they were finally ready to leave the City of Space behind. Truth be told, Jongin hadn’t really been paying that much attention inside the gift shop, his mind still stuck on what had passed between them almost two hours ago. While Chanyeol had been busy leafing through every book he could put his hands on, Jongin had silently trailed behind him, head on the clouds, reliving every minute of that blessed hour he had spent cuddling up to Chanyeol, still incredulous.

So lost was he in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed Chanyeol stopping and had walked a few steps ahead, before turning around to look for his friend. He found him with his nose buried in a book about comets, his backpack left uncaringly at his feet, forgotten in his haste to satisfy his latest curiosity about space. Quietly, to not disturb him, he had moved closer to him, longing for his touch, and had hooked his chin on Chanyeol’s shoulder, spying the page that had captured his friend’s attention. He wished he was brave enough to hug Chanyeol, to pass his arm around his waist, to kiss his cheek, or, even more daringly, his neck, but he was just Jongin, shy, awkward Jongin, so he had limited himself to that small gesture, content to be near him in any way he could.

 

The bus was almost empty, the air inside stale and warm, air-conditioning obviously broken, the windows open in the attempt of getting some circulation, people fanning themselves with whatever had come in hand: magazines, hats, the hem of their shirts.

Chanyeol sat first, Jongin settling himself on the seat behind him. He took the time of their commute to check on his Instagram feed, liking a few pictures here and there and uploading a few of his own. He wasn’t as obsessed as Chanyeol – who had now taken off his snapback and was running a hand through his messy hair, groaning about how damn hot it was inside the bus –, but he liked to update his friends on his whereabouts. Scrolling through the pictures, he stumbled upon one of Junmyeon and Sehun’s selcas. They seemed to be on the banks of the Han River, probably during one of their dates. Sighing, he liked it, and promised himself to check on Sehun later that night or tomorrow morning: Kyungsoo had told him he was being picky about his eating again.

Lazily, he clicked on Junmyeon’s profile pic to check his latest updates: their friend had a particular talent in always managing to find the most aesthetic spots to take pictures of himself in front of. Jongin had asked Sehun many times to share his boyfriend’s secret but his best friend was too stubbornly loyal and had limited himself to share a knowing smile and a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

“What are you looking at?”

Raising his head, Jongin was greeted by the sight of Chanyeol’s face a few centimeters from his own: he had turned around in his seat and was now looking at him curiously, sweaty curls to his forehead, his nose still a bit red from the hot sun of the day. He was so cute.

“Junmyeon’s Insta. He uploaded a few more pictures,” he answered. Chanyeol took the phone out of his hand.

“Hey!”

Chanyeol started scrolling furiously down their friend’s page. “I don’t understand how that nerd has better pictures than mine,” he said, sounding almost heartbroken. “Look at this! He is always holed up in his dorm or at the library, when did he even find the time to take this?” he asked, distraught. He was taking things way too seriously in Jongin’s opinion. And Junmyeon might be a nerd, but Chanyeol still wore the crown for nerdiest person Jongin had ever known.

“This can’t go on.”

He launched Jongin’s phone back at him – which he barely caught before losing it forever under the bus seats – and, ignoring Jongin’s glare, took out his own and moved to the empty seat by Jongin’s side. “C’mon, let’s take some pictures.”

“What? Chanyeol, no, I’m all sweaty and gross!”

He didn’t listen to any of Jongin’s pleas. He had put inside that stubborn head of his that that was the perfect time to take a few selcas and nothing, or no one, could make him change his mind. They spent the last fifteen minutes on the road like that, taking picture after picture, of themselves, of the landscape running outside the window, of the astronaut plushie Chanyeol had aptly named Neil – “Like Neil Armstrong, got it?” “Yes, Chanyeol, I got it” – until Jongin escaped from his seat as soon as the vehicle reached their stop, laughing at Chanyeol’s offended expression, thinking that loving that dumb boy might just be the best decision he had ever taken in his life.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Four

 

_July 22th, Toulouse, Place du Capitole, 9:33 AM_

_Hot, hot, hot_. It was just nine in the morning and the day was already so hot and humid Jongin despaired of what awaited them in the afternoon. Gulping down the second water bottle of the day, he waited for Chanyeol to bring him breakfast sitting at a little round table under the shade provided by a colonnade. Wondering why Chanyeol was taking so long, he took a look around, noticing a couple of tourists – for they _had_ to be tourists, dressed like that – with their noses pointed up, chattering and aiming their phones at something above their heads. Still a bit slow from too much sleep – the night before he had crashed in bed at 10 PM, as Chanyeol hadn’t failed to remind him of at least ten different times in the past hour alone –, he took a moment to understand what was going on. What was so interesting about a ceiling anyway? Raising his head upwards, he opened his mouth in wonder: apparently in France even ceilings could offer a few surprises. The ceiling of the entire colonnade was decorated by painted panels, depicting a variety of subjects that, he was sure, had to be tied to Toulouse’s history.

Standing up, he started following the trail, leaving their table unattended: panel after panel, step after step, he didn’t realize just how much distance he had put between himself and the café he had left Chanyeol in. He was startled out of his artistic contemplation by the loud ringing of his phone, luckily still in his pocket and not left behind on the table.

“Hello?”

 _“Jongin, where the hell are you?! I’ve been standing here like a moron with your fucking brioche in hand because you_ _thought it was a good idea to leave our table unattended and now someone else has taken it!”_

Jongin winced at the volume Chanyeol was using to get his point across. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m– I’m coming, sorry!”

He hurried back, praying that, in the meantime, Chanyeol hadn’t decided to eat his brioche out of spite. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

_Basilique Saint-Sernin, 10:17 AM_

Brioche safe in Jongin’s stomach, they moved towards the center of _Place du Capitole_ , attracted by the majestic Neo-Classical façade of the town hall. A few pictures later, they moved towards _Rue du Taur_ , which, according to Chanyeol’s trustworthy app – in the end, Jongin had to renounce using his beloved maps if he wanted to spare himself from hearing Chanyeol whining every time he took them out of his pocket. A real shame if you asked him, especially considering how useful they would have turned out to be in this suffocating heat – took its name from the martyrdom of St. Sernin, first bishop of the city, who had been tied to a bull and dragged by it from the _Capitole_ to _Rue du Taur_ , where he died. The _Basilique Saint-Sernin_ was built in his memory.

Feeling a bit queasy after this gruesome tale – he had never liked horror movies that much, even less horror stories _that had actually happened_ – Jongin led the way inside the church, setting up camp on one of the wooden pews and taking out his sketchbook, intent on reproducing on paper a few details of the church’s Romanesque architecture. While Chanyeol was busy taking a tour of the interiors – he had lost sight of him behind one of the pilasters – Jongin marveled at the grandeur of the architecture, at the perfect proportions of the elements, at the light filtering through the windows and hitting the stone _just so_ , enhancing its creamy color and emphasizing the harmony of everything.

Since his arrival in France, he had often found himself wondering how his heart could take in all this beauty and not feel burdened by it. Being in this church built by people centuries ago to outlast them… His head spun just thinking of all the stories these stones could tell.

Tracing with his eyes the pencil marks on the page, suddenly he felt like crying, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of everything. The sketches he was drawing, the paintings he was working on at home… were they the only chance he had of leaving part of himself in this world?

Ah, now he was getting a bit too melancholic for his taste. And yet, he couldn’t help having this kind of thoughts. There was no way of knowing what became of someone’s soul at the moment of death: did it leave a trace inside the things you had loved in life? Oh, he hoped so. It was too sad to think otherwise. Feelings, memories… it couldn’t all be in vain, it couldn’t all be lost.

He looked at the few people around him who had come inside the church to pray, sitting with their heads bent and their hands clasped together, and for one moment he thought that having that kind of faith in something bigger than yourself had to be nice. Sighing, he looked up towards the golden altar and wondered if, maybe, things would have been different had he been brought up religious. He would have had the absolute certainty that nothing had been in vain, then. Now, all he could think about was that making art, pouring in it all his feelings, all his hopes and his despair, was the only way he could make sure that a piece of himself would live on forever.

He didn’t know why it had suddenly become so important, why standing inside this church had brought to him this kind of thoughts, but watching Chanyeol appear as if in a dream in front of him, he thought that there was no way, _no way_ , he would let all the love he felt for him be lost: he would pour it in his art, until it couldn’t be forgotten, until someone, anyone, in the far future, looking at his art would think that his heart had been full of love and that that love had outlasted him.

 

_Jardin des Plantes, 12:43 PM_

The streets of Toulouse were an incessant source of astonishment for Jongin: their twists and turns left the unsuspecting visitors the feeling of being stuck inside a maze, but, instead of the Minotaur, what awaited them behind the corner was some of the best architecture Jongin had ever seen. Squares, old buildings, parks full of lush vegetation. After wandering for an hour or so up and down the historical center – he had spent quite a while nosing around inside an antique shop, wishing to be rich enough to buy a beautiful Flemish painting on display, but having to settle for a few old photographs of the city –, they dashed inside a _crêperie_ the receptionist at their hotel had suggested them, probably pushed by a bout of maternal instinct, guaranteeing them good food at an affordable price.

Accepting the suggestion the guy manning the counter gave them _,_ they took their food to go and moved to the near _Jardin des Plantes_ , nibbling on the way, eager to rest for a bit away from the sun. The park was full of people who, apparently, had had the same idea, so finding a free patch of grass proved to be more difficult than expected, but, in the end, Chanyeol spotted one in a more secluded area and they hurried to claim it.

Settling down under their tree – Jongin loved the idea of the tree they were eating under being _theirs_ for a while –, they finished eating their food and, tummies full, lied down comfortably next to each other, Jongin’s eyes closing of their own volition. He tried to resist the pull of sleep, but in the end it proved to be stronger than him, and he succumbed to its will.

 

He woke up disoriented, groggy from too much sleep. The light filtering through the leafy branches of their tree had changed, less harsh against his puffy eyes, mellower, a warm caress to his flushed skin. He sat up, yawned, and stretched his arms and neck, his eyes searching for Chanyeol. His laughter reached his ears before he could catch sight of him, coming loud and clear from his left: and there he was, playing catch with a small, white dog, surrounded by a group of screaming kids running around like madmen. The resulting loudness was so ear-piercing it baffled Jongin how he hadn’t been woken up before by all this chaos.

Sighing, feeling pleasingly boneless, he dropped back on the ground, crossing his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he had fallen asleep, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, Chanyeol would have woken him up otherwise. He was eager to continue their tour of Toulouse, but, at the same time, he didn’t mind at all this stop, and almost wished to relax on the grass for a couple more hours. He was almost falling back asleep when he heard someone approaching at a quick pace, before throwing themselves on the patch of grass at his side. Opening his eyes just a tiny bit, he spied Chanyeol starfished on the ground, panting from too much exertion, sweat running along his hairline to lose itself on the ground.

“Having fun?” he asked, rolling over to face him.

Chanyeol chuckled under his breath, too worn out to give a proper response. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Chanyeol trying to cool down a bit, Jongin just enjoying the moment.

“You slept for so long I was worried you weren’t going to wake up before dinnertime,” said Chanyeol, lightly caressing with his fingertips the grass they were lying upon.

“You could have woken me up if you were that worried.”

“Ah, you were too cute, all snuggled up like a puppy. I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.”

Jongin smiled softly, still looking at his friend. _I love you_ , he thought. _I love you so much sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself_.

Sitting up, Chanyeol started poking him in the arm. “Are you ready to go? There are still a few things to do before we need to catch our train to Paris.” Swatting him away, Jongin stretched from head to toe, sighing blissfully.

“Jongin.” _Poke, poke_. “C’mon, Jongin, you can sleep on the train. Wake up,” he whined.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake.”

 

_Fondation Bemberg, 3:23 PM_

_Fondation Bemberg_ was housed inside the _Hôtel d’Assézat_ , a mansion designed by Toulouse’s most important Renaissance architect, Nicholas Bachelier, and completed in 1581. Its construction had been so expensive that Pierre d’Assézat, the rich merchant who had commissioned it, went bankrupt by the time of its completion. Nowadays it housed an art gallery founded on the collection of Georges Bemberg, with works by artists like Canaletto, Monet, Matisse, and Cézanne. Jongin was really excited to see it.

The two of them marveled at the beauty of the building itself, the likes of which they had never seen before: the courtyard alone was worth a visit. The beautiful loggia on their left was used during the warmer months of the year as a sort of terrace for the café housed in the building, and Jongin was already looking forward to sipping a cold lemonade under its vaulted ceiling.

Inside, the rooms of the first floor were full of antique furniture, from wooden tables to chairs, sofas, armoires. The atmosphere was magical, it almost led you to believe you had stepped inside a portal that had taken you five-hundred years back in time. Everything was so beautifully harmonized, the colors of the wallpapers – yellow, red, light blue - so vivid, it was a feast for the eyes.

They visited all the rooms located along the three floors of the mansion, but the _Salle Impressioniste_ – barer of furniture than the rooms on the first floor – turned out to be Jongin’s favorite, unsurprisingly. Surrounded by paintings by Monet, Pissarro, Boudin, he felt, once again, that the road he had undertaken was the right one. No other pursuit would have befitted him as much as this: there was truly no other choice for him but making art.

 

 _The banks of the River Garonne_ , _5:39 PM_

To end their stay in Toulouse they decided to take a walk along the banks of the Garonne, the river that crossed the city. The view was special: the rays of the mid-afternoon sun hit the water and lighted it up with golden accents; the waves, disturbed only by the occasional passage of a boat, kept advancing lazily towards the sea, bringing with them the magical atmosphere they had fed on through their journey inside _la Ville Rose_.

Contrary to what that morning had prepared them for, the weather had actually cooled down a bit thanks to a light breeze taking away some of the mugginess.

It seemed like a lot of people had had the same idea, and the banks were full of tourists and locals enjoying the last few hours of light of the day. They ran into a lot of couples holding hands while strolling up and down the promenade, or kissing shamelessly along the grass-covered banks. _French people were a lot less shy than Koreans_ , thought Jongin, blushing a bit. He lost himself daydreaming about doing the same things with Chanyeol, and then felt like slapping himself in the face, _hard_ , because, just last night, he had talked to Sehun to update him about his “love life” situation, and his friend had been so fed up with his inability to move things along that he had made him promise to not contact him again unless he had finally found the courage to kiss Chanyeol senseless. While quite rude – he knew, though, that that was Sehun’s way of saying I love you – he had to admit that there was some truth in his words: he had come to France with the intention of confessing after _years_ of pining, but he had yet to succeed. He had tried! But luck just wasn’t on his side. Jongin would laugh about the whole situation had it happened to someone else because it was really getting ridiculous. When, yesterday, during the time they had spent inside the Planetarium, Chanyeol had expressed the desire to rest his head on his shoulder and Jongin had found the courage to act on it, he had thought, _This is it, I’m going to tell him everything, no more fear, it’s the right time_. But then Chanyeol had placed his hand over his own, and Jongin had totally short-circuited. His chance was gone, _puff_ , just like that.

On the morning of their second - and last - day in Toulouse, Jongin had thought that, maybe, it was best if he left everything to chance, perhaps fate would finally take pity on him and move things along in his stead. Or, better yet, he could wait for Chanyeol to make his move. These last few days he had had the impression that his feelings might not be as one-sided as he had thought: friends could also cuddle, of course, but he liked to think that theirs were more than just friendly snuggles.

They were now making their way towards _Place de la Daurade_ , an ample, green space opening right on the banks of the river with a beautiful view of the _Pont Neuf_ , the _Hôtel-Dieu Saint-Jacques_ , and the dome of _La Grave_. Getting closer, their attention was captivated by the notes of a guitar coming from a group of people sitting on the ground a little ahead of them. They stopped and listened for a while, and then Chanyeol turned towards him, ready to ask him something, but Jongin, anticipating him, asked: “You want to get closer, don’t you?”

“Please?” He had such a pleading expression on his face that telling him no would have been just cruel. And, of course, Jongin knew how much Chanyeol suffered being away from his beloved guitar.

“Let’s go! Maybe they’ll let you play something!”

The smile that bloomed on Chanyeol’s handsome face warmed Jongin’s heart right to the core.

 

Ana, Felipe, Jorge, and Natalia came from Spain. They had been backpacking through France since last June and wouldn’t go back home until the end of the month, a well-earned vacation after their academic efforts. They welcomed the two of them with open arms, immediately conquered by Chanyeol’s charming smile: Jongin had yet to meet someone who had resisted falling under Chanyeol’s spell, there was something about him that immediately put people at ease.

They talked for a while – well, Chanyeol did, mostly. Jongin’s English, although good enough to understand most of what was being said, was too poor to carry on a proper conversation. They were nice and very friendly, ready to share useful tips about what to do and see and eat in Paris, where they had stayed for an entire week, and the more they talked, the more Jongin couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come. There were so many things he wanted to see and experience in Paris he truly hoped there would be time for everything.

While they talked, Felipe continued playing his guitar, partaking here and there in the conversation. It was truly a beautiful guitar, and Chanyeol seemed to have noticed that too: after some initial shyness, he finally asked Felipe if, maybe, he could play it for a bit, and the guy readily agreed.

Excited, Chanyeol moved closer to Felipe and sat between him and Natalia, a pretty, blonde girl who, to Jongin’s irritation, seemed to be particularly happy to have Chanyeol sitting so close to her.

Distracted by Ana, who was asking him a few questions about what they had seen in Marseille – he half-panicked for a second, trying to recall all the English lessons he had ever taken in his life – he missed part of the conversation the rest of the group was having, so he was caught by surprise hearing a sweet, feminine voice singing a song that – he was quite sure – he had heard before but that he couldn’t quite place, accompanied by the notes of the guitar, now played by Chanyeol.

They were good together: by the time of the first chorus, Chanyeol had started singing too, their voices harmonizing quite nicely, his so deep and honey-like, Natalia’s soothing and a bit hoarse. They went through a couple of songs – Jongin thought he recognized something by Coldplay, one of Chanyeol’s favorite bands – before Natalia asked Chanyeol to sing something for her. She had moved closer and closer to him, and was now almost sitting in his lap: Jongin was pretty sure she would have climbed him if it weren’t for the guitar blocking her path.

Chanyeol – because, of course, he was _Chanyeol_ , and he had never been able to resist a pretty girl’s attention – readily agreed, blushing a bit. Rolling his eyes, Jongin tuned out what was going on in front of him, preferring instead to listen to Jorge’s animated tale.

 

Chanyeol hadn’t really meant to ignore Jongin. It was just that… well. He had a guitar in his hands for the first time in almost a week – and quite a fine guitar, at that! – and he might have been a little carried away by that electrifying feeling. Natalia’s attention, on the other hand… It had been rather unexpected. At first, he had thought she had only been interested in singing with him to have a little of fun, convinced as he was that Felipe was her boyfriend, but then, the longer they sang together the more her attention had totally turned to him, and Chanyeol… Chanyeol was a sucker for positive attention, especially if he had to thank his playing and singing skills for it. So, at first, he had played her game and agreed to sing a couple of songs for her, enjoying the situation way too much.

He was almost finished with the second song when he got distracted by loud cackling coming from the rest of the group. Raising his head, he spotted Ana and Felipe guffawing with tears in their eyes while Jorge screamed something in Spanish, gesticulating wildly, clearly in the middle of a story. He smiled, loving the sound of quick-fired Spanish, while his eyes searched for Jongin, ready to share with him a knowing look – Jongin had once confessed to him that he found the Spanish language quite… pleasant to the ears –, only to find him with a lost expression on his face, his eyes darting back and forth between Ana and Felipe, clearly feeling left out from the conversation. He saw him biting his lips and averting his eyes, a light flushing rising up on his cheeks, before grabbing his phone from his pocket in a self-defense mechanism Chanyeol had seen him carry out quite often when he was feeling uncomfortable. He tended to forget just how shy Jongin was with new people, used as he was to be among the lucky ones Jongin wasn’t shy to be himself with.

Right then Chanyeol felt so stupid, he could have hit himself in the head if it that would have actually helped to put some sense into him. It hurt to see Jongin like that, alone when surrounded by people, while Chanyeol was _right there_ , preening for a bit of attention from a girl he would never see again and that he really didn’t care that much about, honestly.

Heart in his throat, he tried to think of something to save the situation without revealing Jongin’s uneasiness to the group, knowing it would only make him more uncomfortable.

He had a guitar in his hands, and from that guitar also came the solution.

 

His Instagram feed had never been more dead, all his friends apparently too occupied with real-life matters to have time to spend on social media. He liked a few pictures of puppies, trying to tune out the loud laughter and the quick words assaulting his ears that he couldn’t understand. He felt like such an idiot, sitting there by himself, while around him people were having fun. It was in moments like this that he truly despised his shyness, his awkwardness with people, and he wished to be someone different, someone like Chanyeol, who was so quick to make friends.

Biting his lips – for he could feel the telltale of tears –, he tried to distract himself texting Sehun, before remembering his friend had asked him quite adamantly to not contact him unless things had changed for the better between him and Chanyeol. Right. That same Chanyeol who was so occupied flirting with that girl he hadn’t even _looked_ at Jongin in all this time.

He was thinking about going away for a bit with one excuse or another, maybe he could go and draw the scenery from the bridge, but was stopped by Chanyeol’s voice singing a song that – he was pretty sure his friend knew – was very dear to him.

 _What would I do without your smart mouth?_  
_Drawin' me in and you kickin' me out_  
_You got my head spinnin', no kiddin'_  
_I can't pin you down_  
_What's goin' on in that beautiful mind?_  
_I'm on your magical mystery ride_  
_And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me_  
_But I'll be alright_

Was he singing it for that girl? Oh, Jongin couldn’t stand that. That song… he loved it so much he had often desired to hear Chanyeol singing it to him. And now, instead, his wish had become someone else’s entertainment. He couldn’t stomach looking at them, he just couldn’t.

 _My head’s underwater_ _, but I’m breathing fine  
You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind_

He was so tense he could feel his hand hurting from holding his phone too tightly, his eyes fixed on the ground, heart turned to stone. He moved to stand up, needing to get as far from the scene as he could before he started crying in front of everyone, but before he could get up, a hand lightly tapping his shoulder caught his attention. It was Ana, smiling prettily at him, and pointing her finger towards Chanyeol: “Look,” she said.

Jongin didn’t know what pushed him to turn his head in that direction; maybe it was an automatic response at Ana’s words, maybe it was just his sadistic side who liked to see him suffer. The fact was, he _did_ turn his head, and what he saw left him, for a few seconds, breathless.

Chanyeol was staring right at him, his eyes fixed on his face, his expression lighting up when he realized he had finally caught Jongin’s attention. Right then, he launched himself into the chorus of the song, sang with such passion in his voice Jongin felt dizzy from it.

 _Cause all of me_ __  
Loves all of you  
Love your curves and all your edges  
All your perfect imperfections  
Give your all to me  
I _’_ _ll give my all to you_ __  
You _’_ _re my end and my beginning_ __  
Even when I lose, I _’_ _m winning_  
_'Cause I give you all of me_  
_And you give me all of you_

Jongin couldn’t look away, as if mesmerized. Was Chanyeol singing that song for _him_? No, no, it couldn’t be. And yet… His heart, beating wildly in his chest, seemed to believe a different story. He brought his hands up to his cheeks, feeling them burning. A smile was threatening to bloom on his face, only curbed by his ever-present insecurities.

 _How many times do I have to tell you?_  
_Even when you’re crying you’re beautiful too_  
_The world is beating you down, I’m around_  
_Through every mood_  
_You’re my downfall, you’re my muse_  
_My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues_  
_I can’t stop singing, it’s ringing_  
_In my head for you_

Insecurities that Chanyeol’s voice blew away, just like that, allowing his smile to finally bloom unencumbered, wide and beautiful, mirrored by the one on Chanyeol’s face. The tenderness in his eyes, the light flushing of his cheeks, that smile… to Jongin he had never looked more beautiful.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent so much time thinking of what would be the perfect song to have Chanyeol sing to Jongin, and then it just it me: Chanyeol did sing the perfect song a few years ago. If you want to relive the experience of listening to his sweet, sweet voice, I’ll leave you the link [here](https://youtu.be/HX3EKO-SzaY).


	6. Chapter Five

 

_July 23th, on a train to Paris, 6:21 AM_

Tossing and turning for the hundredth time in his bunk, Jongin sighed, exasperated.

When they had decided to take a night train from Toulouse to Paris it had seemed like a good idea: train tickets were cheap, and, traveling at night, they wouldn’t lose precious hours they would rather spend visiting the city. Well, it _would_ have been a good idea, really, hadn’t it been for Jongin’s apparent inability to fall asleep that night without waking up every thirty minutes or so.

Judging from the sounds coming from the other occupants of the cabin – deep breaths mixed with the occasional snore –, he was the only one having any kind of problems. In all honesty, he had initially blamed the incessant rattling of the train for his insomnia: he wasn’t used to sleeping inside a moving vehicle, and he had the suspicion that the upper bunk was way more susceptible to the train’s movements than the lower one, which had been assigned to Chanyeol in a game of rock-paper-scissors – now Jongin suspected Chanyeol had actually let him win just so he could settle himself more comfortably. After a lot of thinking, though, he was maybe ready to admit that the reason why he couldn’t sleep was now snoring in the bunk below his, seemingly without a care in the world.

After leaving behind their Spanish friends, back in Toulouse, they had set out for one of the many restaurants that lined the banks of the Garonne, walking side by side in awkward silence. Leaving the guitar behind had meant Chanyeol had lost part of his confidence, and, apart from a very meekly asked _Did you like the song? –_ to which Jongin had just as shyly replied _Yes_ – he hadn’t said much more.

Jongin had literally died inside wishing for the right amount of courage to just take Chanyeol’s hand in his own and say to him _Chanyeol, I like you, wanna be boyfriends?_ but, as always, he had chickened out, thinking that Chanyeol had probably meant to sing that song as a friendly cheer-me-up, otherwise he would have surely said something! He was so good at flirting when he put his mind to it, why would it be any different with Jongin? He wasn’t intimidating by any means, and he was pretty sure he projected _I like your stupid face_ messages every time he looked at Chanyeol, so it wasn’t like his friend couldn’t already be suspecting something.

His heart lurched at the thought. He didn’t know whether to be more sad or embarrassed, really. Had he put Chanyeol in a tight spot with his ever-changing moods? Was Chanyeol tired of spending time with him? Had he sung that song just to appease him, to soften the blow before telling him that maybe it was best for them to spend some time apart for a while, _Because, you know, Jongin, I don’t actually like you that wa--_  

THUMP!

His depressing thoughts were interrupted by a kick against the bottom of his bunk, hard enough to lift it up a bit, causing Jongin to jump up in fright.

“What the--!” he yelled _–_ more like screeched, if you asked Chanyeol.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”

Chanyeol’s stupid face appeared from down below, a shit-eating grin on his lips. “You didn’t react to my phone’s alarm, so I thought you needed a stronger wake-up call.”

“One of these days I’ll kill you, Park Chanyeol, mark my words,” Jongin muttered, sitting up and trying to hide just how fast his heart was beating. He got easily scared, alright? Nothing wrong with that.

“We’re almost in Paris, Jongin, better start to prepare to get off.” Jongin heard him rummaging in his backpack, probably looking for something to eat. “You and your two suitcases,” he added as an afterthought.

Rolling his eyes, Jongin used the stepladder provided to reach the ground, smiling in greeting at the other occupant of the cabin, a middle-aged guy who was probably regretting ever sharing their couchette. He just hoped Chanyeol’s snoring hadn’t disturbed him too much.

Stretching up on his tip-toes, he retrieved his bag from where he had left it on the coat and moved to close the bunk, so that he and Chanyeol could sit down comfortably for the last ten minutes of their journey.

Chanyeol had already opened the blinds and the landscape they could glimpse out of the window was dull and unattractive: of course, suburbs were suburbs everywhere, and here they were filled with warehouse after warehouse and the occasional open field. The sky contributed to the feeling of general gloom: dark clouds were rolling in from the west, and Jongin could only pray they wouldn’t turn into rain.

 

_Paris, Montmartre, Place du Tertre, 9:23 AM_

Paris. _La Ville Lumière_. Jongin’s biggest dream since he had laid his eyes on a blue painting ten years ago.

Paris, Paris, _Paris_ …  

He was in Paris. He was in Paris with his best friend, he was there with the love of his life, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Jongin, are you alright?”

Chanyeol’s voice. He had fallen in love with that voice, a few years ago. There was so much concern in it now, Jongin must be really scaring him.

“Jongin?”

His hand on his arm, his worried eyes searching his face. He had a small mole right on his nose. It was a very cute nose.

He was in Paris with the person he loved most in the world, he would be there for three days, and the sun had just come out. More in his heart than up in the sky, but did it really matter? He was in Paris!

“Chanyeol, we are in Paris!”

On his face a smile so big he could feel his cheeks hurting from it.

“What do you mean, we are in Paris? Jongin, we have been in Paris for the past two hours—”

Jongin kissed his cheek. Because he loved him, and because he looked pretty, and because he felt happy, and in love, and… and… and because they were in Paris, and Paris wouldn’t be the same without love, right? And Jongin’s heart was brimming with it, with love for his friend, love for this city, love for everything he was laying his eyes on: the cobblestone street, the colorful flowers peeking their heads out of a window, the souvenirs stalls, the old man drawing caricatures sitting on his wooden stool.

There was beauty everywhere he looked, but most of all on Chanyeol’s sweetly blushing face.

_Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, 9:48 AM_

Montmartre had a charm to it that conquered even the most hardened hearts. It was impossible not to fall in love with its atmosphere.

Jongin was completely taken by it, Chanyeol could tell. _La terre libre des artistes_ , he had called it. The free land of artists. The name put a smile on Chanyeol’s face. What a wonderful idea, a place for all artists to gather together and make art.

The enthusiasm in Jongin’s voice while he told Chanyeol the history of this place was infectious: starting from the end of the 19th century, many artists had moved to this neighborhood for to the low rents and the congenial atmosphere. Renoir, Toulouse-Lautrec, Degas, Picasso, Modigliani, and many, many more, had all something to do with this place. It truly had to look like heaven in Jongin’s eyes.

Of course, full of tourists, souvenirs shops, and restaurants, it had lost part of its authenticity, but Jongin swore there were still many things worth seeing and Chanyeol trusted his judgment, it had never led them wrong.

They were now walking up the last few steps that led to the parvis of the _Basilique du_ _Sacré-Cœur_ – thank God the weather in Northern France was much different than what they had found in Provence and in Toulouse, for there were _a lot_ of steps, and Chanyeol could feel himself sweating a bit –, Jongin more skipping than walking, really, so bright and lively Chanyeol fell a little bit more in love with him at every step.

Finally, they reached the top of the hill – the highest hill in Paris, at that! – and the Basilic stood in front of them.

 

They spent a while wandering inside the church, Jongin with his trusted sketchbook in hand, Chanyeol taking picture after picture of whatever caught his eyes – mainly Jongin –, before walking back outside to enjoy the view over Paris’ roofs. 

The city seemed never-ending, stretching large and beautiful before their eyes, serene and refined. They took a picture together there, Paris’ vastness as their background, arms around each other’s shoulders, feeling more content there than they had ever felt back home.

It hit Chanyeol then, that their vacation was almost over, that, sooner than they thought, they would head to the airport to catch their flight back home, and that all of this would remain nothing but a beautiful memory in their hearts, something to cherish forever, but a memory nonetheless, something that would probably fade year after year, till nothing remained of it but the aftertaste of a few days of summer spent in contentment with his best friend.

Would they still be friends by then? Or would they only hear from each other for Christmas and birthdays, awkward conversations through a telephone, many _How are you?_ and _Yes, me too_ and empty niceties and even emptier promises of catching up with each other in person one day, until the phone calls stopped altogether, both of them living their lives without thinking too much about the other, maybe only once in a while, recalling warm summer days spent together in a foreign country.

He felt like throwing up.

Where had these thoughts come from?

They were friends, they would be friends forever if they couldn’t be more than that.

Chanyeol thought back at what had happened the day before, the love he had poured into a song, the few words he had had the strength to pronounce after, hoping they would be met with a more enthusiastic response than the one he had received, the crushing feeling that had taken over his heart when he had realized that his efforts hadn’t been enough, but also, the resolution of trying again, to make his intentions clear, and to obtain a definitive answer, be it a yes or a no, before they went back home.

“Let’s make the most of these last few days, okay, Jongin?” he asked, tightening his hold on his friend’s shoulder.

Confusion moved quickly across the plains of Jongin’s face, before being cleared by a beautiful smile, its tenderness filling a void in Chanyeol’s heart he didn’t know was there.

“Of course, Chanyeol.”

 

 _From_ _Rue Saint-Vincent to Rue Lepic, 11:33 A_

“Why is there a vineyard in the middle of the city?”

“The hill used to be filled with vineyards before it was annexed to Paris. This is the only one still standing. With its grapes they make a wine called Thomery.”

Chanyeol was looking particularly impressed. “How do you even know these things?”

“Ah, that’s a secret,” Jongin winked.

“Ah, I really like this place.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I can see us living here, you know? In a little apartment with a view over the city, you busy painting to your heart’s content while I play my guitar… Like those artists you love so much,” he turned to look at Jongin. “Would you like to live here with me, Jongin?”

 _I’d live anywhere in the world if I’d get to be with you_.

“I’m not sure…” he pretended to think about it. “Baekhyun is always whining about your messiness… And you snore, let’s not forget about that! Ah, Chanyeol, I really don’t know…”

Chanyeol’s expression was getting more and more outraged the longer Jongin went on about his shortcomings as a roommate. “And you tend to play your guitar at the weirdest hours, and you know how much I need my eight hours…”

He was still talking when Chanyeol, snorting, hurried up ahead, leaving Jongin to catch up with him.

“Chanyeol, c’mon, I was kidding!” He laughed, while Chanyeol avoided his gaze.

“Chanyeol!” He stepped in front of him and blocked his path, finally looking him in the face. His expression wasn’t merely offended, as Jongin had imagined. There was disappointment there, and… embarrassment, maybe even sadness. The smile on Jongin’s face slowly dimmed.

Had Chanyeol… Had he really meant that?

“Chanyeol… Did you—did you really mean that?” Jongin had taken those words as the kind said in jest when building castles in the air in the company of a friend. He hadn’t thought Chanyeol might actually mean them, mean them enough to get hurt by Jongin’s carelessness.

Scoffing, Chanyeol finally looked him in the eyes. “You never take anything I say seriously, do you?”

“What? Chanyeol, that’s not true! Don’t say that.” He felt like crying. “I was just… It was just a joke, Chanyeol, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He tried to comfort his friend taking his hand in his own, but Chanyeol avoided his touch. That hurt more than being stabbed in the heart.

“Let’s just forget it, Jongin. I was just being stupid, you’re right.” He smiled bitterly. “Let’s continue our tour.”

And with that, he resumed walking, leaving Jongin behind, still confused about what exactly had gone wrong between them.

 

The silence was oppressive. Jongin kept stealing looks at Chanyeol, trying to understand what had set him off, and if he was calming down in any way. Chanyeol wasn’t the kind of person to stay mad for long, his bursts of anger similar to a fire that burned hot and quick, leaving nothing behind.

They were nearing the _Moulin de la Galette_ , one of the landmarks Jongin had been eager to see, immortalized by Renoir in his painting _Bal du moulin de la Galette_. He was itching to tell its story to Chanyeol, knowing he would find it mildly interesting and that – under normal conditions – he wouldn’t have hesitated in calling Jongin an art nerd, but he kept his mouth shut, took a few pictures of the exterior, with its windmill towering over the arch at the entrance of the restaurant, and resumed walking, Chanyeol not even stopping for a second to marvel at a sight like that in the middle of the city.

He quickened his pace and reached his side, trying, once again, to detect his mood from the expression on his face: glasses askew, hat lowered over his eyes, there was no way of knowing what he was really thinking.

 

_Square Jehan Rictus, 11:56 AM_

Montmartre was everything Jongin had ever imagined, and even more, yet he couldn’t enjoy it to the fullest knowing that Chanyeol was mad at him. He sighed, frustrated. Mostly at himself. Chanyeol was not the type to get this mad over nothing, so he had to feel really hurt if he was still not talking to Jongin. He just wished he knew _what_ he got so mad about.

Directed to the _Boulevard de Clichy,_ they took a shortcut through a small park, when Chanyeol stopped and took off his backpack, before sitting down on a bench. “Let’s sit here for a while, okay? I’m tired,” he said.

“Yeah, alright.”

Jongin gingerly sat down next to him, unsure whether his presence was welcome or not. Biting his lips, he took his phone out of his pocket, just to have something to do with his hands, wondering how to break the awkward atmosphere surrounding them.

Chanyeol was just staring at the ground in front of him, bent forward, elbows resting on his bare knees. Suddenly, he sat upright, took off his snapback and ruffled his hair, a sound of frustration leaving his lips. He took in a deep breath and spoke: “I’m sorry about earlier. You didn’t do anything wrong, I was just being too sensitive. Forgive me, Jongin.”

Jongin could tell that the apology was sincere, that he was really regretting his burst of anger, but his sad eyes also told a different story: that he had truly been hurt by Jongin’s words, but that he was willing to put aside his pain in order to make Jongin feel less guilty about the situation.

His self-sacrificing Chanyeol, always putting others’ wellbeing before his own. Jongin was always so worried about his friend’s soft heart, concerned that someone would bruise it, that someone would take advantage of his openness, of his goodness, and badly hurt him. How ironic that, in the end, he had been the one to hurt Chanyeol with his words when all he had ever wanted to do was to protect him and spare him any wound.

“Chanyeol, I have nothing to forgive. Rather, I should be the one to apologize for hurting you.”

Chanyeol shook his head. “No, no. It was my fault, Jongin. You were just joking around as we usually do, and I reacted too harshly. I’m sorry.”

Sighing, Jongin laid his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder and tried to find the right words to express what was going on in his head. “Chanyeol, I wish you’d stop asking forgiveness for being human. Please, when I’m being too dumb to realize I’m hurting you, you should take me by the shoulders and say to my face that I’m being an insensitive ass, so that I’ll stop.” He pouted extra hard to make Chanyeol laugh. “Will you?”

Finally, a small smile bloomed on Chanyeol’s face. Chuckling a bit, he nodded. “I’ll try.”

Jongin squeezed his arm. “Good. Let’s try it now, then: will you tell me why you got so upset earlier so that I’ll learn from my mistakes?”

Those words seemed to agitate Chanyeol, who started fidgeting.

“Ah, Jongin… There is no need, really. I’m okay now.”

“It’s more for me than for you, really! I want to apologize properly. C’mon, Chanyeol, tell me. Tell me, tell me, _tell me_ —”

“Okay, okay! I’ll tell you.” He took in a deep breath, as if he was bracing himself for an arduous task, and maybe he was, for opening your heart was the most difficult task you could set off for. “I know you were just kidding, saying you didn’t know whether living with me would be a good idea, and I knew it then, too, but I guess that hearing your rejection, after yesterday… It cut deeper than I thought.”

Jongin was confused. “What happened yesterday?”

“I know you didn’t like me singing that song to you that much, but it’s okay, I understand—”

Now was Jongin’s turn to be upset. “What do you mean I didn’t like it, Chanyeol?! I loved it! Why would you think I didn’t?!”

“You didn’t say anything apart from answering yes to my question, and then we walked in silence until we reached the restaurant, what was I supposed to believe? That maybe you felt uncomfortable being put on the spot like that when all I had intended to do was to cheer you up after behaving like a jerk!” He was getting restless again, letting off some steam biting into the skin of his right hand’s knuckles. “I felt like everything nice I say or do for you is never enough, like I’m always missing something important, the right words to make you happy, the right time to say them… like maybe _I’m_ the one who is never good enough for you.”

“Chanyeol… Chanyeol, why would you think that?” Jongin took Chanyeol’s right hand and moved it away from his mouth, cradling it in his hands, away from harm. “You’re my best friend, Chanyeol.” He smiled, watery. “You’re my best friend in the whole wide world, and I love you. I cherish every moment we spend together, even the most insignificant ones, and you make me happy, Chanyeol! You make me so happy, you have no idea. Every moment is fun if it’s with you.” He bit his lips, to stop himself from crying. “And I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry I wasn’t able to show you just how much I care and appreciate you till now, if you had these kinds of horrible thoughts.” He squeezed Chanyeol’s hand. “I’m the one who is the horrible friend here, not you, never you.”

“I think we’re both pretty horrible, to be honest.” He turned his head to look Jongin in the eyes, smiling softly. “All this drama when we could have just talked to each other more openly since the start. Let’s just forgive each other, alright? Let’s be friends for a really long time, Jonginnie.”  

They hugged, and the pain they had both felt disappeared like smoke in the cloudy sky of Paris.

Had they not been so concentrated on each other, maybe they would have noticed the wall a few steps behind them, a black sheet filled with _I love you_ written in all the languages of the world. But they didn’t notice it, eyes filled only with the other’s image, and the wall was left there, overlooked.

 

_Î_ _l_ _e de la Cité, 3:22 PM_

From that little park they moved to the _Boulevard de Clichy_ , a large road right in the middle of the red lights district of _Pigalle_ , attracted there by the unarguably most famous cabaret in Paris, the _Moulin Rouge_ , easily recognizable by the red windmill stuck on his roof – Chanyeol had started singing quietly Your Song from the OST of _Moulin Rouge!_ , and Jongin had had to literally bite his tongue not to make fun of him: it was too soon, after the misunderstanding they had had. Now he wished he had recorded it, because Chanyeol looked so cute, all starry-eyed while singing a song he would categorically deny knowing if asked –, and then went to get something to eat, before taking the metro to _Î_ _l_ _e de la Cité_.

    

“I bet I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking about lava coming out of those gargoyles, just like in _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_.”

A toothy smile. “So what, it’s a classic!”

“Do you wanna see them from up close?”

Disbelief. “We can?”

“Well, it just so happens that I booked a tour of the two towers. C’mon, tell me I’m amazing.”

“You truly are, Jongin.” A sweet smile, and so much fondness in those brown eyes Jongin felt like drowning in them.

“Let’s go, then.”

 

The view of Paris from the terrace of the _Notre-Dame_ Cathedral was something Jongin would never forget. That, coupled with the astounding gothic architecture they were surrounded by, made Jongin feel like the luckiest boy in the world, to be able to witness such beauty with his own eyes.

Oh, the cathedral was so much more magnificent than what he had thought, there were no words to truly describe what he felt standing under its shadow. Now, gazing over the horizon, sketchbook in hand, he felt awed, overwhelmed, unable to take his pencil in hand, frozen in place by all the details his eyes were taking in. He could hear Chanyeol taking pictures of everything, and thank God for that, because he knew he would want to see everything a thousand times more after leaving _Notre-Dame_ behind, he would never get enough of this view.

He felt Chanyeol leaning close to him on the balustrade, hair lightly ruffled by the gentle wind blowing up there, face and arms tanned by all the time they had spent under the sun lately, and he was so utterly gorgeous Jongin’s heart skipped a beat. What he wouldn’t give to feel those arms around him, those lips on his, those hands caressing his hair, and that voice speaking words of love to him and him alone.

He sighed, dejectedly. He had been pining for Chanyeol for so many years now he didn’t remember how it felt not loving him. And loving him, even if that love was not reciprocated – or, better yet, reciprocated under a different form – was the most precious gift life had ever presented him with.

Apparently, he had just needed Chanyeol to be woken up from the stupor he had found himself in: he placed his sketchbook on the rail, opened it, and started drawing the first few lines of Chanyeol’s face, the Seine flowing lazily behind him.

 

They stopped to visit the _Sainte-Chapelle_ after that, and Chanyeol had never seen anything more beautiful than Jongin’s skin hit by the light of the sun filtering through the stained-glass windows, forming on his skin a geometry of colors and shapes he was itching to trace with his fingertips. Every work of art he had seen in this journey, every lovely thing he had laid his eyes upon, they were nothing but pale images, as cheesy as that sounded, compared to Jongin’s beauty, put there just to make him stand out, like on a stage.

The world was Jongin’s stage, and Chanyeol the avid spectator.

   

_Latin Quarter, 8:12 PM_

They walked so much that day Chanyeol couldn’t feel his feet.

Despite not having slept much that night, Jongin was full of energy and enthusiasm and had dragged a worn out Chanyeol around _Le Marais_ district – he had particularly appreciated _Place des Vosges_ and the ice-cream he had eaten there –, begging him to take a lot of pictures while he hurriedly tried to fix on page whatever caught his eyes, relying on Chanyeol’s photos to later give his sketches the final touches. Chanyeol, of course, indulged him, but if he took more pictures of Jongin than of the scenery, well, that was between Chanyeol’s phone and him.

“Jongin! Jonginnie, I beg you, I’m so hungry!” He rubbed his stomach with the most pitiful expression he could muster, hoping it would make Jongin give in. “Let’s go eat dinner and then we’ll keep going around, please, Jongin?”

“But… I really wanted to get us a caricature from that man we saw on the bridge a while ago. Can’t you wait?”

“Jongin, I’m not walking another forty minutes just so you can get a caricature from one of the hundreds of cartoonists scattered around the city center! We’ll get it done tomorrow, promise,” he whined. “But it’s already late, and I’m hungry, and tired, and we still have to find somewhere to eat, and—”

Jongin suddenly took him by the hand and silently dragged him towards one of the side streets swarmed with small restaurants, eliciting a triumphant smile from Chanyeol.

 

The waiter who had greeted them at the door introduced himself as Adrien and led them to a table for two under the pergola that, with its dark pink flowers, had first caught Jongin’s attention. Chanyeol was honestly just glad to finally sit down and eat, so one restaurant or another it didn’t make much difference to him.

They were soon left alone by the waiter, but not before he had lighted the white candle standing among the glasses and handed them the menus.

“What do you want to eat?”

The menu was in French, but the ingredients were also translated in English, so, at least, Chanyeol had some vague idea of what was in each dish. Still, he had no idea how to pronounce any of those French names, so he limited himself to point out what he wanted to Jongin, knowing he would take care of the rest. They ended up ordering _Moules-frites_ for Chanyeol, and _Blanquette de veau_ for Jongin, and, judging by the silence that descended upon their table, they were enjoying their food a lot, too busy stuffing their faces to talk about their day.

Chanyeol was still happily munching his fries, enjoying the breeze blowing through the foliage above their heads bringing with it the fragrant scent of the beautiful, pink flowers that had so much caught Jongin’s attention, when he heard a whining sound, and, raising his head, he found Jongin staring at him with his mouth open in a clear request of food.

Glancing down at his plate, Chanyeol saw that he had already devoured all his meat, his plate as clean as if it had never stored food. Rolling his eyes – but secretly pleased to be able to do this –, he took a couple of fries from his plate and fed them to Jongin, loving the way his cheeks filled up chewing the delicious morsel. He kept feeding him his mussels and his fries, until nothing was left on the plate, all the while giggling at just how cute Jongin looked begging for food.

They decided to order desserts, too – a _Tarte Tatin_ for Jongin, a _Pêche Melba_ for Chanyeol – and while they waited Chanyeol couldn’t stop himself from thinking that this looked very much like a date. There were a lot of couples sitting at the tables around them, and he blushed thinking Jongin must have chosen a restaurant popular for romantic dates.

He was debating whether to point it out to Jongin, just to see his reaction, when his friend shot out from his seat and ran in the street without no explanation whatsoever, scaring the hell out of Chanyeol. Should he follow him? But then the waiter would think they were leaving without paying the bill. Also, he really wanted to eat his dessert, it had looked delicious on the menu.

Fortunately, Jongin returned to their table before Chanyeol could panic even more: he was standing before Chanyeol’s chair, panting from his sudden run and holding something behind his back, face all bashful, but with a determined light in his eyes.

“Where the hell did you run like that, Jongin? You scared the shit out of me.”

“Here!”

He thrust a red rose right under Chanyeol’s nose, its leaves a little bruised from his tight grip, but nonetheless beautiful and unexpected. “I was afraid I had lost the guy selling them, thinking for so long whether to buy it for you…” He chuckled, rose still in hand. “So I ran in the street and I managed to catch up with him!” He beamed, pleased. “Please, accept it, Chanyeol!”

He was so cute, so satisfied with having managed to buy that flower for Chanyeol. Chanyeol, who was staring at him open-mouthed, who could feel a furious, uncontrollable blush starting to bloom from his neck to his cheeks, engulfing his whole face.

Timidly, he took the rose from Jongin, cradling it protectively in his hands as it was appropriate for the most precious, most delicate gift he had ever received.

Jongin, in the meantime, had returned to his seat with the biggest smile on his face, which only got larger the more he looked at Chanyeol, enchanted by the sight. Chanyeol looked up, then, and met his gaze. “Thank you, Jongin, I love it.” His fingertips were lightly tracing the red petals of his flower, contrasting beautifully with the white tablecloth, so, so careful not to ruin them with his big hands, and he smiled, gently, a warmth as he had never felt before taking hold of his heart.

 

_Parc du Champ-de-Mars, Tour Eiffel, 11:01 PM_

They had reached the Tower after a long journey in metro, Jongin excited out of his mind and literally jumping up and down in place at the prospect of finally seeing the monument. Chanyeol was much more mellow: he had sat down as soon as they had entered the train, his rose in hand - for he was unwilling to put it in his backpack, fearing it would get crushed -, and had spent much of the journey nodding to whatever Jongin was bubbling excitedly without really listening, too concentrated on his flower. Such a small gesture, giving someone a flower, and yet so meaningful: Chanyeol had never received flowers before, and he was so happy that Jongin had been the first to gift one to him.

They walked for a bit after exiting the metro station, and Chanyeol was so, so tired of walking, but his tiredness was repaid by Jongin’s loud gasp at the first sight of the Tower, standing tall and beautiful, illuminated by a thousand lights, shimmering against the dark, starless sky.

Jongin started running then, to get closer to it, zigzagging between people, his bag violently bouncing at his side, giggling madly, and, of course, leaving Chanyeol behind to despair at the idiocy of his best friend, before starting running too, because, in the end, there was no other choice for him but to follow Jongin.

He caught up with him after almost losing him in the crowd, right when the lights of the Tower started glittering, designing random paths on the metal surface, and eliciting even more giggles out of Jongin, who started dancing goofily to the rhythm of music only he could hear.

He was so beautiful like that, happy and joyful, with a light in his eyes that outshined the thousand sparkling ones of the Tower, and Chanyeol loved him, loved him so much he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything else but him, only him, always him. And maybe, maybe Jongin, too, loved him. Maybe Jongin’s heart beat for him, too.

“Chanyeol, dance with me!”

He took him by the hand, then, and dragged Chanyeol to him, making him stumble a bit. He laughed, and was about to let go of his hand to continue his silly dance, but Chanyeol was quicker: he tightened his hold on Jongin’s hand and stopped him from leaving his side. There must have been something in his eyes then, because Jongin didn’t try to free himself and stopped moving altogether, his smile slowly dimming, his eyes searching for something on Chanyeol’s face, and, when he found it, he raised his free hand and lightly caressed Chanyeol’s cheek with it, before resting it on his neck. Chanyeol, then, passed his arm around his waist – his hand still tightly holding his rose –, and pulled him even closer, until there was nothing separating them, their faces so close their noses brushed against each other and their breaths mixed together. He closed his eyes, and he wouldn’t be able to tell who moved first, but finally, _finally_ , their lips met, and it was heaven.      

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wall I wrote about in the section about the Square Jehan Rictus is a real art installation called Le mur des Je T’Aime, The Wall of I Love you’s.  
> [Edit 04/14] So... I've spent the last hour yelling into the void because Junmyeon decided to take a few pictures right in front of this wall. You can see them [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BwPqA6PB1Ks/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link).
> 
> The scene with Jongin dancing goofily in front of the Tour Eiffel was inspired by this [video](https://www.instagram.com/p/BoVzh_nFPKv/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)


	7. Chapter Six

 

_July 24th, Hotel La pie, 8:14 AM_

Jongin was woken up by the sound of the rain pattering against the window. He blinked his eyes open, just to close them up quickly, assaulted by the milky light flooding the room. The night before they had forgotten to close the blinds. He tried once again, slowly, to give his eyes the time to adjust to the light.

He sighed, content. For a while, he followed the paths the rain was tracing on the glass, gray clouds the only thing he could see beyond the window. He settled more comfortably between the white sheets, inhaling the scent of the detergent they had been washed with, mixed with the scent of _them_.

 _Right, them_ , he thought, quite giddily. _Because now there was a_ them _to consider_.

Quietly, so not to wake his companion, he turned to his right, and there he was, the love of his life.

Huddled-up between the sheets, face slack and mouth a tiny bit open, plump lips begging to be kissed.

 _I can do that now_ , thought Jongin, incredulous. He couldn’t believe that what had passed between the two of them the night before had been real and not just the product of his over-imaginative mind. But he still remembered the taste of those kisses they had shared, and he was sure he couldn’t have imagined that.

Eager to taste it again, he took Chanyeol’s lips in a chaste kiss, nothing more than a light caress on those unfurled petals, sweeter than honey. Unable to stop, he moved to kiss his nose, his full cheeks, the slope of his forehead. Chanyeol was too pretty, too lovely, not to be woken up every day by a hundred kisses.

Chanyeol had started waking up by then, his eyes opening up slowly, at first confused and unfocused, but then a smile bloomed on his lips, shy and tender.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey yourself,” answered Jongin, just as sweet. He raised his hand and lightly carded his fingers through Chanyeol’s hair, then caressed his forehead, his ear, his cheek. He was so beautiful like this, so lovely and vulnerable, warm from sleep, his eyes still a bit lost in dreams. Jongin’s heart ached from his love for him.

Chanyeol sighed, passing his arm around Jongin’s waist and dragging him closer, their legs tangling under the sheet. Lazily, he laid a path of kisses from Jongin’s shoulder to his neck, and then he hid his face there, inhaling his scent, tickling him with his hair. He stayed still for a while, lulled by Jongin’s warm hands tracing patterns on his naked back, by Jongin’s kisses against his ear, by the loving words he kept whispering against his cheek, inebriated by love.

 

They must have fallen asleep, for the next thing Jongin knew, the rain had stopped falling and Chanyeol was snoring on his shoulder, hugging him tightly, while Jongin laid underneath him. What he wouldn’t give to wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life.

He moved his fingers up and down Chanyeol’s arm, enjoying the softness of his skin, rethinking of what had happened between them the night before, the magic that had been in the air when they had first kissed, the understanding that had passed between them as soon as their eyes had met, no words needed. They had held onto each other’s hand until they had reached their hotel and, once in their room, they had sat down and talked and kissed and explored each other’s body in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Jongin could feel Chanyeol beginning to stir, his breathing becoming less deep, his legs brushing against Jongin’s. He knew he was fully awake when he saw him smiling, his dimple forming prettily on his cheek, and Jongin started to smile, too, and then he giggled, his happiness impossible to contain, filling his heart, his lungs, his tummy, until it had to be let out or he would explode.

He disentangled himself from Chanyeol and rolled on top of him, peppering his face with a hundred kisses, until Chanyeol was giggling too, hair ruffled, cheeks flushed, and eyes bright, so, so bright and large and beautiful, and Jongin was in love; he was so in love he wanted to scream it from the top of a building, he wanted everyone to know that this giggling boy was _his_ , his love, his person, and that he belonged to him, too.

“Jongin, Jongin! Stop, stop, I can’t breathe!” laughed Chanyeol, stopping Jongin from continuing his assault planting a hand on his face.

Whining, for he wanted to keep kissing Chanyeol, _damnit_ , Jongin licked Chanyeol’s hand, earning a yelp and a slap on his ear for his efforts, but it was still worth it, because, in the commotion, he managed to plant one last kiss on Chanyeol’s lips – well, it wasn’t right on his lips, more like his chin, but it still counted.

“Good morning,” he said, beaming, still perched on top of Chanyeol, their faces so close he could count every freckle on Chanyeol’s face.

“Good morning, Jongin,” answered Chanyeol, a smile just as big on his face.

They stayed like that for some minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes like the main characters of some trashy romance novel, before bursting out laughing and meeting each other halfway, lips on lips, morning breath be damned.

 

“We should get up, it’s getting late,” Chanyeol whispered.

The clouds in the sky had disappeared, the sun now shining brightly through the window. Chanyeol and Jongin were still in bed, snuggling under the sheets, pressed tightly against each other, the bed too small to comfortably accommodate both of them unless they clung to each other – not that they minded, really.

Chanyeol pressed a kiss against Jongin’s forehead, enamored. Jongin was always, always beautiful, but that morning he was beautiful in a special way: his bronze skin glowed against the whiteness of their bedding, his lips were red and bruised from too many kisses, his hair adorably mussed, a few hickeys adorned his collarbones, his body flushed from the neck down…

They had to get up, or they would end up spending all day in bed.

“Jongin…” A kiss on his cheek. “Jonginnie, wake up.” Another one on his temple. “Wake up, baby,” he kept whispering, his warm hand stroking up and down Jongin’s arm and then to his neck, to his face, cupping it, and lightly caressing his cheek with his thumb. “It’s late, and we have so many things to see.” A kiss on his eyelid. “I know you don’t want to miss this, Jonginnie, you’ve waited so long for this day. C’mon, I know you’re awake.”

Jongin sighed and finally opened his eyes. Bleary-eyed, he pressed a drowsy kiss on Chanyeol’s lips, and then sat upright, stretching his arms, grumbling about way too much responsible boyfriends.

Chanyeol was lost gazing at the long line of his body – gorgeous, gorgeous body –, so he took a few seconds to realize Jongin had called him his boyfriend, albeit indirectly. With a stupid smile on his face, he pressed one last kiss to Jongin’s shoulder, before dragging him to shower.

Needless to say, that morning they didn’t go outside until noon.  

 

_On a train to Giverny, 2:01 PM_

They barely made it in time for the 2 PM train.

Panting, they threw themselves on the first two unoccupied seats they found, finally able to catch their breaths.

“I would have never forgiven myself if we had missed the train,” said Jongin, running a hand through his sweaty locks, his other hand reaching inside his bag to retrieve the water bottle he was sure he had put inside before leaving their hotel.

“Well, you have your responsible _boyfriend_ to thank for that,” replied Chanyeol, smugly. He moved closer to Jongin, almost sitting on his lap, slowly running his hand from his knee up to his thigh, causing Jongin to choke on his water and splutter it everywhere – mostly on Chanyeol’s face.

“Jongin, what the hell,” said Chanyeol, wiping his face. So much for smoothness.

“B-boyfriend?” Jongin coughed, red in the face.

Chanyeol frowned.

“Yes, _of course_ boyfriend! What, do you want to deny calling me that this morning?” he gasped, amused. “Or do you want to call me by another name?” He pretended to think about it, “Maybe your sweetheart? Your significant other, your beau, your fella, the apple of your eyes--”

“Why are you making fun of me, Chanyeol,” Jongin whined. “You know I don’t function properly in the morning.” He had an adorable pout on his face, and Chanyeol barely resisted the urge to kiss it away.

Wait.

Why resist it?

He cupped Jongin’s face in his hands and smooched his adorable pouting mouth, because he could do that now, and he wasn’t going to miss any chance to feel those plump lips against his own. He stopped himself from turning it into a proper make-out session only because they were in public. He was starting to believe that Jongin’s kisses were addicting: the more he kissed him, the less he wanted to stop. Begrudgingly, he planted one final peck on Jongin’s cute nose – everything about Jongin was cute, from his nose to his lips, his cheeks, his hands, even his _toes_ – and let him go.

Flushed and a bit dazed, Jongin blinked a few times before focusing back on Chanyeol’s face. “What—what was I saying?”

Chanyeol smiled, delighted: his kisses were _that_ distracting. Ah, Jongin was so cute, so pretty, so lovely, and _his_ , his boyfriend, his lover, his sweetheart…

“We were talking about you calling me your boyfriend, and then you excused yourself saying that you don’t function properly in the morning, so should I assume,” he paused for dramatic effect, “should I assume that you have no intention of taking responsibility for your actions?!” he gasped. “You, you—seduce me! And take me to bed, and take advantage of my feelings for you, you taint my _pureness_ \--” He covered his face with his hands, spying Jongin’s reaction from the gaps between his fingers. “And you deny ever calling me your boyfriend!” He added a few fake sobs for good measure.

“…You’re so full of shit, oh my God.” Jongin grabbed Chanyeol by his shirt and wrapped his arm around his neck, efficiently blocking any attempts of escape. Chanyeol had started cackling as soon as Jongin had grabbed him, and it only got worse when Jongin started pulling his hair and ears, grumbling about stupid boyfriends and their overdramatic asses.

“So you admit I’m your boyfriend, then!”

“I admit it, I admit it! Now shut up!”

 

_Monet’s house, Giverny, 3:22 PM_

Claude Monet had lived in this house for forty-three years. He had molded and shaped it according to his tastes, adding colors and character to what had only been a small, unassuming building named House of the Cider-Press because of the apple-press located on a little square nearby.

The pink walls and the vivid green of the shatters rendered it almost an extension of the garden, the vines that crawled over the upper floor only emphasizing the illusion. And the garden! From what Jongin could see before entering the building it was much more magnificent than what he could ever have imagined. There were colors everywhere: the blushing pink of the roses, the vibrant orange of the zinnias, the vivid yellow of the sunflowers, the delicate purple of the verbenas, there didn’t seem to be any rule or constraints, flowers had been planted and allowed to grow freely, mixing more common species, like the poppies and the daisies, with rarer varieties.

He couldn’t wait to explore it far and wide.

But, first, the house.

Once again, Jongin was hit by the colors that had been used for the walls and the furniture: the tour started from a little blue-colored sitting room, Japanese woodblocks – of which Monet was an avid collector – adorning the walls. Jongin was enamored with the shade of blue that had been used and took a close picture of it to try and recreate it later.

From then, they moved to Monet’s studio. Jongin could feel himself literally vibrating from too much excitement, and he calmed down a bit only after Chanyeol took him by the hand. He relaxed some then, took a deep breath, and entered the room. There were copies of his paintings everywhere on the walls, filling every little spare inch: most of the originals were now displayed at the _Musée Marmottan_ in Paris, one of the places they would be visiting the next day. A writing desk, a few wicker chairs, a chaise longue, a luxurious carpet to cover the wooden boards, the room had lost its original function at the time of Monet, turned into a smoking room where the painter entertained his guests. Still, thinking that some of his works had first seen the light here… the thought filled Jongin with wonder.

The last rooms they visited were the dining room and the kitchen, and Jongin hadn’t thought he would found them as stunning as he did; the dining room, in particular, assaulted his eyes with its vibrantly yellow walls and furniture, so different from the somber and dark rooms one was used to imagine inside a nineteenth-century home. He shouldn’t have been so surprised, really, it all reflected Monet’s tastes and personality.

The adjacent room, the kitchen, was far less dramatic, tastefully decorated with blue and white ceramic tiles and its furniture accented in blue. Still, the yellow glow that filtered through the open door connecting the two rooms was in perfect harmony with the coldness of the colors chosen for the kitchen.

 

From there, they moved to the garden.

Chanyeol had never seen such a magical place before in his life: the flowers, the trees, the bugs buzzing around drunk on pollen – well, he wasn’t really a fan of the bugs, but, hey, save the bees, right? -, Jongin jumping around from flowerbed to flowerbed, a little bee himself, attracted by the flowers' loud colors, their scent floating around in the air, filling their heads and their lungs, heady, sensual, unforgettable.

For one moment he thought he had lost Jongin among the lilies and the roses, just to catch sight of him crouched in front of colorful gladioluses, frozen in place, his eyes fixed on a small, round ladybug, his finger stretched out to touch the flower and intercept the path of the little, fat bug, its wings opening up and closing down at regular intervals, threatening to take flight at the first sign of movement. But Jongin stayed still, and, in the end, his efforts were repaid: the ladybug climbed on his fingers, eliciting a big, happy smile from Jongin. He rose up to his feet, eyes never leaving the small insect, and took the few steps that separated him from Chanyeol, stopping right before him.

“What are you doing?”

“Let’s make a wish, Chanyeol,” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s wish on the ladybug!”

He closed his eyes then, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows, and brought his finger up close to his face, the little ladybug still resting on it, its red shell shining under the July sun, looking like it instinctively knew to wait before flying off, for it had a very important job to do: granting the wish of the loveliest boy on earth. Well, okay, _maybe_ Chanyeol was projecting a bit, but still, his wish was that whatever Jongin was thinking so hard about got true, because, truly, what else was there for him to wish for but his boyfriend’s happiness? He had all he needed and more, he was happy, in love, and his future had never looked brighter, with Jongin at his side.

Jongin blinked one eye open. “Are you done?” he asked, and, when Chanyeol nodded, he opened up both eyes, smiled, and blew lightly on the ladybug, following its flight with his eyes, until it was lost in a cluster of sunflowers.

He took Chanyeol by the hand then, and they walked together, side by side, following the path winding around the flowerbeds.

“What did you wish for?” Chanyeol asked, curious. A lizard crossed the path ahead of them and hid under a rose bush.

“If I tell you it won’t come true!” Jongin looked dead serious, almost shocked by the question. There were certain rules to magic, and Chanyeol had just asked him to break one! “It’s like wishing on a shooting star, Chanyeol! You can’t tell anyone what you wished for, no one!”

“Ah, alright, alright! I won’t ask again.” He smiled toothily, thinking of how cute Jongin looked when he was mad, like a ruffled puppy, and just as scary.

They arrived at the end of the garden, and, right before entering the underground passage that would take them to the water garden – the two plots of lands were separated by the railway -, Jongin stopped, and led Chanyeol to sit on a bench. He was still holding his hand, his so delicate compared to Chanyeol’s, and Chanyeol could feel him trembling slightly, eyes focused on the gravel at their feet.

“What is it, Jongin?” He turned his concerned gaze on him, wondering why they had stopped so suddenly. Jongin had been talking since forever about this particular stop on their journey, excited out of his mind to finally see with his own eyes the place that had inspired so many of Monet’s paintings.

“It’s stupid,” he muttered, hiding his face against Chanyeol’s shoulder in a silent request of affection. Chanyeol hugged him, then, and nuzzled his cheek. He freed his hand from Jongin’s to wrap both his arms around his waist and hug him properly, feeling Jongin return the hug with force, Chanyeol’s t-shirt held tightly between his fingers. He mumbled something, but the words were lost in the red fabric covering Chanyeol’s shoulder.

Chanyeol kissed Jongin’s head. “I can’t hear you like this, love.” He tickled his neck, hoping it would make him raise his head, and it did, but it also earned him a fairly painful pinch on his tummy and a glare. Jongin’s face was a little flushed, and he was pouting, but what worried Chanyeol the most was the telltale sign of tears in his eyes. He caressed his cheek, his thumb moving back and forth under his eye, and then kissed him on the lips, soft and loving, wishing to relieve him of his worries.

With one final peck, they broke apart, Jongin now looking less on the verge of crying. Inhaling deeply, he avoided Chanyeol’s eyes and spoke: “I’ve waited for this moment for so long, and now that it’s finally here I’m afraid I won’t have anything else to look forward to with the same excitement.” His voice was soft, and it would have probably been too low to hear hadn’t Chanyeol been so close to him. “And I know it’s quite stupid, and that I really have no reason to think that, because, well, I’m twenty-one and there are still so many things I want to achieve in life, but this dream that I had, this wish, this longing… it has been with me almost since I can remember, always there, driving me forward, pushing me to be better, a better artist, a better student, just so that I could, I don’t know, _deserve_ to come here—” He blinked quickly, keeping the tears at bay. “And now that I’m at the end of this road I’m really, really scared, Chanyeol. What am I going to do after this?” He was trembling again, overwhelmed, and once again took refuge in Chanyeol’s arms, looking for comfort.

Chanyeol had never been the best person to ask for advice, too often being the one seeking it. He was too hot-headed, too sensitive, he empathized too much with the person in front of him to be able to judge the situation clearly. He would usually resort to asking Junmyeon, or even Baekhyun, who was so much more mature than what people judged him for, but there were no Junmyeon or Baekhyun here, just Jongin and Chanyeol, one of them on the verge of tears.

Chanyeol, then, did what he did best: he put himself in Jongin’s shoes, stopped worrying too much, and tried to put a smile back on Jongin’s face.

“What you’re saying… I don’t think it’s stupid, don’t talk about your feelings like that. Now you may feel disoriented, and scared, and worried about the future, but I know everything’s going to be alright, and I’m not saying this just to appease you, I’m saying this because I know it’s the truth. You’re going to graduate, and you’re going to be the best artist Korea has ever seen!” He could hear Jongin chuckling a bit, so he kept going: “Think that what you are about to fulfill is just one of your dreams, Jongin! One in so many! You may have forgotten, but I remember you once told me you dreamed of going to Disneyland to take a picture with Baloo, so, there you go, another dream waiting for you!”

“Oh my god, Chanyeol, that’s not a _dream_!” He was full out giggling now, and Chanyeol could swear he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his entire life.

“Why not?! I dream of eating an entire chocolate cake by myself without getting sick. Every dream is valid.”

“That’s because you’re a pig,” Jongin said, not sounding very impressed.

“Don’t dream-shame me! And anyway, that’s not the point! The point is… the point is that… Stop laughing, I’m trying to be serious!” he yelled, mock affronted. In reality, he really didn’t know what point he was trying to get across. He was terrible at this giving advice business. “What I was trying to say is that life is…”

“Like a box of chocolates?”

“Yes!” He beamed, but then he realized what he had agreed with. It was too late: Jongin snorted so hard he almost choked. Was this Chanyeol’s destiny? To make his boyfriend laugh at his dumbness? He didn’t really mind it, to be honest. Still, he had to fake some outrage, for his own dignity: He started pouting, stealing glances at Jongin who was still laughing. He huffed, trying to get his attention, and when he obtained it he pouted extra hard, comically so. What he didn’t expect was to have his cheeks squished between Jongin’s hands and his pout kissed with a literal _mwah!_ sound.

“I love you.”

Well, he _really_ hadn’t expected that. He blushed, thinking of how many times they had told each other those same words in the past, thinking the other only meant them in friendship. But now everything was different, and he couldn’t stop his heart from beating that much faster. Jongin, who was still squishing his cheeks, resumed peppering his lips with kisses, much to Chanyeol’s delight, seemingly unaware of his turmoil.

One last kiss and then Jongin released him, now looking a bit shy and bashful, but so, so beautiful, as if unsure whether his actions had been well received. Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Chanyeol bent down for one last kiss, this one far less innocent than the others.

“I love you, too,” he said, and if he had thought that Jongin was beautiful before, well, now he was outright _radiant_. “And I’m going to be your muse! From now on forget about flowers and ponds, I’m going to be your inspiration!”

Jongin looked confused for one second, but then he seemed to realize something, and beamed. “You’re a genius, Chanyeol!”

Hurriedly, he picked up his bag, grabbed Chanyeol by the hand, and dragged him towards the entrance of the underground passage, all his fears left behind on that bench.

 

The scent of the wisteria, the blue of the sky reflected on the water, the white and pink nympheas, floating lazily in the pond, their bright green leaves kissed by sunlight. The bamboo wood, the Japanese bridge, the willow branches brushing the still surface of the pond, everything was just as Jongin had imagined it time and time again. Well, with one addition.

“This is so pretty.”

Chanyeol was there with him.

His pretty eyes were wide open as he was taking in, slack-jawed, the beauty of the garden. “I didn’t think it would be this pretty!” His surprise was genuine, his enjoyment even more so, Jongin could tell. Looking at Chanyeol’s expressions was proving to be almost more enjoyable than looking at the place itself.

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Dragonflies were buzzing idly over the water, their wings like multicolored glass. “Come with me,” Jongin said, leading Chanyeol by the hand towards a more secluded spot of the garden, surrounded by greenery. He positioned him with his back towards the water, and, when he was satisfied, he left him there, and sat on a bench in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol asked, baffled.

“You’re going to be my model for today,” Jongin informed him, taking out his drawing material from his bag. It was getting old, the leather worn out and cracked, but his parents had given it to him when he graduated high school and he was reluctant to get rid of it. “Now relax and stay still, it won’t take long.”

Chanyeol preened at his words. He leaned back against the wooden fence, trying to assume, from what Jongin could understand, a sexy pose, and winked. “Draw me like one of your French girls,” he said, sending him a kiss.

“You have to be naked for that,” said Jongin, giggling. He started drawing the lines of his body, as familiar as his own. It wasn’t the first time he drew him, but he had never outright asked him to pose for him.

“Well, we have our hotel room for that.”

He froze and could feel himself blushing. He had been so surprised by Chanyeol’s words he had broken his pencil tip. Frowning, he turned to a new page on his sketchbook, the one he had been using before now sporting a black blemish. Before rummaging in his bag looking for a pencil sharpener, he raised his eyes to look at Chanyeol, who had the smuggest look on his face he had ever seen, thinking he had flustered him and left him speechless.

 _Two can play this game,_ thought Jongin. Smirking, he said, “I’ll think about it, if you’re very good today, Chanyeollie.” He licked his lips, “ _Very_ good. Will you?”

Now was Chanyeol’s turn to be flustered. He was so pretty like that, all flushed and excited, pupils blown wide. Good enough to eat.

He nodded.

“Good,” Jongin smiled, and started working on his drawing. The day had just turned even more interesting.

 

 


	8. Chapter Seven

_July 25th, Musée Marmottan Monet, 9:22 AM_

“I told you we’d be getting here too early, Jongin, the museum won’t open until 10.”

Jongin had dragged him out of bed at seven that morning, claiming they had a long day ahead of them and there wasn’t any time to waste. That was the first time Chanyeol had seen him so lively so early in the morning, his usual groggy self nowhere to be found (his love for art was that powerful). Still, Chanyeol hadn’t appreciated such an early rising, especially considering the kind of… strenuous activities they had engaged in the night before, so now, for a change, he was the cranky one out of the two of them.

“Well, we’ll be the first in the queue, then!” Jongin said, self-assured.

Perplexed, Chanyeol took a look around: the road, lined with elegant buildings, was completely deserted, apart from an old lady walking her snobbish white poodle, and the two guards stationed at the entrance of the museum who were looking at the two of them quite suspiciously, probably wondering why two guys in their early twenties were so eager to visit the museum that they had gotten there too early.

Chanyeol smiled at them awkwardly, before grabbing a yelping Jongin by the arm and leading him away from the entrance. He could feel those guys’ eyes following them.

“Jongin, what queue are you talking about? There’s no one here and I don’t see the situation changing any time soon,” he whispered, hurriedly. Those guys gave him the creeps, sue him. “I have no intention of waiting 40 minutes under the sun. There’s a park right there, with trees! And shade! We can still see the museum from there, and I promise, as soon as we see the first people arrive we’ll run back here, okay?”

“Well, what do you want me to say, Chanyeol?” Jongin asked, sarcastically. “It’s not like you gave me much choice,” he grumbled, glaring in Chanyeol’s direction while trotting behind him, trying to keep up with his pace. _He had definitely woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning_ , he thought.

Pouting, he sat down on the bench Chanyeol had chosen, crossing his arms, refusing to talk to his boyfriend while he was being so grumpy. “Grandpa,” he muttered, earning himself a glare from Chanyeol who had evidently heard him. Sticking out his tongue, he took out his phone from his pocket to answer a series of texts Sehun had sent him the night before, whining about the long hours at his part-time job and Junmyeon’s long hours at his desk working away at his thesis, resulting in the two of them barely seeing each other despite the summer break.

After a few minutes spent typing away at his phone – Sehun had just finished working and this was one of the rare times the two of them had managed to talk to each other in real-time that week –, he felt Chanyeol lightly tugging on his t-shirt, asking for his attention. Throwing a quick glance in his direction, Jongin felt his heart melting at the expression on his face and, just like that, his irritation melted away. Placing his phone back in his pocket, he gathered Chanyeol in his arms and kissed him on the cheek.

“Sorry, Jonginnie…” Chanyeol said, bashful. “I’m sleepy and grumpy, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” Nuzzling Jongin’s neck, he added, “and I really, really don’t want to go home tomorrow.”

Chuckling, Jongin started petting his hair. “I know… This week passed by way too quickly.” He kept caressing Chanyeol’s hair and soon after, he could feel him nodding off, getting heavier and heavier on his shoulder, his weight resting completely on him. Carefully, he moved him so Chanyeol was laying with his head on his lap, his legs dangling from the bench, and removed his glasses, hearing him sighing contentedly before falling into a deeper slumber.

Smiling to himself, Jongin kept caressing his hair, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. Chanyeol must have been really tired to fall asleep like that, considering he was usually the chirpy one in the morning. He felt a bit bad having woken him up so early despite them falling asleep really late. He blushed a bit rethinking of what they had been up to last night.

Tracing the slope of Chanyeol’s nose with his fingertips, he couldn’t help but fall a little bit more in love with him: he was so pretty, almost painfully so. _Ah, what have you done to me, Chanyeollie_ , he thought, moving his fingers to his cupid’s bow, which had been the main character of many of his past fantasies, but that he was now allowed-- no, _encouraged_ to kiss.

“Not being with you every moment of every day is going to be so painful,” he whispered. “France spoiled us, my love.” A wistful smile. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but that future you spun for us, it broke my heart a little bit. It aches, right here,” he murmured, bringing his hand up to touch his chest. “An absolute yearning. Because now I can’t imagine any other future for us but that one. Maybe not here in Paris – but, I’m not gonna lie, it’d be amazing, this city would be just _perfect_ for the two of us –, but as long as we’re together I’d live even in the most derelict town, I just need you and my brushes to be happy,” he sighed, softly placing his hand on Chanyeol’s. “I’m not sure you’d agree with me, though. You were made for bigger things; the buzz of a big city, the never-ending discoveries… they suit you so well.” He chuckled. “Ah, here I am, opening up my heart, and you’re asleep. This is so _us_ , I reckon. My sleeping beauty… rest, I’ll be here to watch over your dreams.”  

 

Chanyeol could count on one hand the times he had woken up from a nap feeling this refreshed and with a smile on his face. Still halfway in dreamland, he could feel a hand softly petting his hair, giving him goosebumps and tingles all over his body. Sighing contentedly, he was about to open his eyes, when a gentle, singing voice stopped him.

 _Wise men say only fools rush in_  
_But I can't help falling in love with you_  
 _Shall I stay?_  
 _Would it be a sin_  
 _If I can't help falling in love with you?_

Jongin’s voice was lovely; too shy to sing in front of people, Chanyeol had seldom heard him before today. Mostly, he tended to sing along to the songs he listened to while working on his paintings, and, a few times, Chanyeol had managed to rope him into singing along to the radio on those nights they had both needed to vent their frustrations as college students by belting out a few tunes.

But this was different; the sentiment behind it was different. His voice carried with it all his love and affection, all the sweet and tender feelings stored inside his heart that he was finally able to show freely. It was beautiful. Chanyeol wished he could bottle it all up to take out when he needed to feel safe, and loved, and cherished. The song’s lyrics, Jongin’s soft voice, the hand caressing his hair, they all contributed to him feeling completely enwrapped in Jongin’s essence, a balm for his soul.

 _Like a river flows surely to the sea_  
_Darling so it goes_  
 _Some things are meant to be_  
 _Take my hand, take my whole life too_  
 _For I can't help falling in love with you_

And on that last note, he opened his eyes and gazed into those of the person he loved most in the world.

 

Jongin hadn’t expected to bring his eyes back to gaze at Chanyeol’s face just to find him looking back. Flushing, he stopped caressing his hair, embarrassed at having been caught singing to him a sort of unasked lullaby while he was still asleep. Chanyeol’s sound of disapproval pushed him into resuming his task, which he was secretly glad about; unexpectedly, Chanyeol took his free hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm, just to move it to his cheek and keep it there, sighing happily.

“I love you,” he muttered, and Jongin’s poor heart skipped a beat.

“I love you, too,” he answered, and he did, truly, without a doubt, had for such a long time that loving Chanyeol felt like part of him, like a piece of his heart had Chanyeol’s name carved all over it, impossible to erase.

“What did you dream about?” he asked him.

“You. I dream of you more often than not.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

Chanyeol sat up and took Jongin’s hand in his own, larger, more calloused, warm. “What, you don’t believe me? I dreamed that we were together at your parents’ house, and we were so tired from playing all day with your dogs, and for some reason you asked me who would win in a fight between Ace and Akainu, and got mad at me when I chose Akainu, because, you know, _that’s what actually happened in the comics_ , and refused to talk to me until dinnertime.”

“That’s rude, and you know it! We don’t talk about that episode, ever!” said Jongin, irritated. That fight had never happened, as far as he was concerned. Then, another thought occupied his mind. “Already thinking about meeting the in-laws, are you?” he smirked, looking forward to Chanyeol’s reaction.

Only, it was very different from what he had expected. Chanyeol got all serious and pressed himself closer to him, their faces so close Jongin was hypnotized by the speckles of gold in his eyes. Chanyeol leaned closer still, and then kissed him gently, slowly, and Jongin’s mouth yielded against his, and this kiss tasted like sunshine, and comfort, and familiarity. It tasted like a promise.

When they parted, Jongin was trembling.

“I’ve been thinking about spending the rest of my life with you, Jongin. I’ve thought about the color of the curtains in our room, about the fights for the sunniest spot in our bed, about the morning kisses and the goodnight ones, about all the movies we’ll watch snuggled under a fuzzy blanket on our lumpy couch, about your loud laughter and your quiet smiles, about never having to miss you ever again because you’ll always be by my side, and I’ll be by yours, and we’ll fill each other’s nooks and crannies until, bit by bit, we’ll become one, and start behaving like each other, and all our friends will be so annoyed with us they’ll find any excuse to not come over for dinner.”

He smiled, kissing Jongin’s trembling hand. “So, yes, I’ve thought about meeting the in-laws, and you know what, I’m not even scared, because only truly amazing people could have brought up someone as wonderful as you. Also, I want to play with your dogs,” he laughed. “I promise I’ll be with you as long as you’ll have me, Jonginnie.”

Heart in his throat, Jongin wrapped his arms around Chanyeol’s neck, and cheek to cheek, whispered in his ear: “You’ll be with me for a very long time, then.”

“I can’t wait,” said Chanyeol, and he was beaming. They stayed wrapped in each other’s for a few minutes until Chanyeol remembered something.

“Jongin!”

“What?” came the mumbled reply.

“What time is it?! The museum must be open by now!” he said, untangling himself from Jongin; there was a frantic tone in his voice as if scared of what Jongin would do if they were late.

“Oh, about that… It must be past eleven by now,” said Jongin, sheepishly. “I didn’t want to wake you up, you were sleeping so peacefully…”

At loss for words, the only thing Chanyeol could do was to kiss him again, loudly, on his forehead. “You’re every kind of perfect, you know that?”

“Debatable,” Jongin grumbled, trying to hide just how red his cheeks had gotten at Chanyeol’s words. He stood up, grabbing his bag from where he had left it on the ground. “Well, let’s go, then!” he said, and hurried ahead, a bit embarrassed, but so, so happy.

 

 _Impression, soleil levant_ was an amazing painting. Even Chanyeol, knowing close to nothing about art, could see that. The colors of the sky and the water left an impression so strong in the heart of the viewer it was impossible to forget. As soon as Jongin had spotted it among all the other paintings displayed in the section of the museum dedicated to Monet he had literally squealed, before embarrassingly covering his mouth, his eyes glinting excitedly. He had told to Chanyeol everything he knew about the painting, enthusiastic at the way Chanyeol seemed to be interested in it – and he truly was, there was nothing he loved more than listening to Jongin talking animatedly about something he loved so much –, and had been really sad to leave it behind.

The sadness had soon left its place to what Chanyeol would define as anticipation: Jongin had started to look around every room they got into as if looking for something in particular, deflating a bit every time he didn’t seem to find it. Chanyeol was about to ask him just what he was searching for with such frenzy when he sensed him freeze beside him and catch his hand in a tight grip. Turning his head to look at him, and then at the painting that had, apparently, caused such a reaction, Chanyeol gasped out loud, surprised by the beauty of that artwork and by the resonance that it caused in his heart: a blue pond, white clouds reflecting on its surface, pink nympheas floating lazily lightly touched by the low branches of a willow.

“Is this… This is…”

“The water lilies pond in Giverny,” Jongin said softly, answering Chanyeol’s unasked question.

“It’s beautiful. I didn’t think it was possible to recreate the feeling that view gave me, but this… this is incredible.”

Jongin laughed, misty-eyed. “I’ve looked so much for this painting, I can’t believe I’m finally seeing it again,” he said, moving closer to the frame. “This was the beginning of everything, Chanyeol. The spark that lighted up this fire inside me.” He was smiling, a hint of nostalgia in his voice, his eyes lost in a memory. “This is the painting I saw in Seoul when I was twelve. I remember it as if it was yesterday, the awe I felt when my eyes first laid on it. I was so young, but I knew at that moment that I’d never see anything more beautiful ever again. I went back to the museum several times until it returned to France, and I was devastated, I felt like I didn’t spend enough time soaking it in. And, of course, I never saw it again, it never returned to Korea. But I looked it up in books, and you won’t believe just how many paintings with this very subject Monet painted, but in the end, I was able to find it in one of my books. And now here it is; we have come full circle.”

 

_Musée de l’Orangerie, 2:32 PM_

“I really hope you’re not sick and tired of water lilies, because if you’re not, what we’re about to see will blow your mind, Channie.”

After lunch, they had moved towards the _Jardin des Tuileries_ , and Chanyeol had been sure they were headed to the _Louvre_. But, much to his surprise, they had stopped in front of a much smaller building, the writing above the door reading _Musée de l’Orangerie_.

Picasso, Matisse, Cézanne, Modigliani, Gauguin, they all had space inside the museum. Chanyeol and Jongin stopped and admired all their works – Jongin, in particular, seemed on the point of losing his mind from all the masterpieces he was finally seeing with his own eyes rather than on the pages of a book. Chanyeol, too, was enjoying the experience, discovering a newfound appreciation for colors and perspectives. Not any less important, all the art he was admiring in this trip to France would surely come in handy when composing new songs. Even now, his mind was frantically working, notes playing as if coming from the paintings themselves; the themes narrated in the artworks, the expressions so poignantly rendered, they all contributed to the birth of new lines of poetry that he stored in his heart, ready to be used on his next songs. This trip, this journey the two of them had started on was proving to be more intense, more life-changing than Chanyeol could ever have expected.

 He also could never have expected what the last two rooms on their tour had in store for them. Jongin moved behind him and, giggling in his ear, told Chanyeol to trust him. He covered his eyes with his hand, the other one resting on his waist, and guided him forward. They must have looked quite the sight to the other visitors, not that Chanyeol really cared: goofing around with Jongin had always been one of the highlights of his days. They awkwardly shuffled forward a few steps, past the door they had stopped in front of, Jongin exerting light pressure on his waist to help him move past obstacles – Chanyeol wasn’t ashamed to admit he immediately thought back on their last night together, when Jongin had put his hands in that same exact spot but for far less innocent purposes –, until they stopped. Chanyeol could hear the buzz of the other visitors, the mixing of languages from all over the world, could feel the warmth of Jongin’s body pressed against his, his breath tickling his neck.

“Are you ready?”

At Chanyeol’s nod, Jongin removed his hand. Temporarily blinded by the lights, it took a moment for Chanyeol to understand what he was seeing, but when he did his heart skipped a beat: they were standing at the center of an oval room, surrounded by water. Slowly turning around on the spot, his eyes lost themselves inside pools of blue, green, pink, inside paintings that spanned the entire length of the four walls they were hanged on, almost as tall as him.

“What… how…”

Jongin hugged him from behind, resting his hands on his tummy and his chin on his shoulder, and began whispering in his ear the story of those paintings and of a man called Claude Monet.

 

“Now I understand why you took me to Giverny before coming here.”

They were sitting on the sofa placed at the center of the room, and they had been for a while, unwilling to leave this place behind. The more Chanyeol looked at the paintings, the more he lost himself in them; they were so big, encompassing, he felt utterly insignificant in front of them. “Had I seen them before going there I wouldn’t have thought they depicted a real place. The land of the fairies, maybe. The land of dreams. But this… this is incredible.”

“I knew you would like them. And the painting we saw this morning was just a little taste of what would come,” Jongin laughed. He was squeezed between Chanyeol and a man sitting beside him, and he was the happiest Chanyeol had ever seen him. He sighed contentedly, his head resting on Chanyeol’s shoulder. “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is, but nothing compared to you; you’ll always be my favorite work of art,” Chanyeol answered cheekily, and quite enjoyed the sight of Jongin’s cheeks filling with color.

He enjoyed the punch on his arm that followed a lot less.

 

_Musée d’Orsay, 4:47 PM_

Jongin wouldn’t be able to explain why he loved Impressionism so much. It had all begun with that blue painting he had seen when he was twelve; it had enthralled him so much to leave a permanent mark on his soul. He had studied other art movements, and loved other authors, but, in the end, he always came back to Impressionism. That genre seemed to belong to him, and always had, nothing else had resounded in his heart just as much.

Other styles, other periods didn’t awake the same feelings inside of him as a painting by Van Gogh or Sisley could. For the first time, artists had gone outside their ateliers to paint the sun, the light, the water, and the sky, and the impressions they left on their hearts. The bright colors, the beauty of nature, the picturesque little towns in Provence, but also the large Parisian boulevards, the life in the cafes, the crowded theatres, the freedom with which these artists had defied all rules and expectations to paint something completely different from what was considered “proper”; there was something so captivating in all of this that Jongin hadn’t been able to resist its charm.  

And now he was about to enter the museum that housed the largest impressionist collection in the world. The building itself was a work of art; the more distance he and Chanyeol covered towards it, the more he felt like he had been sent back in the past to that incredibly prolific period for the arts that had been _La_ _Belle Époque_.

Situated on the left bank of the Seine, before being converted into a museum it had been a railway station, finished in time for the _Exposition Universelle_ of 1900. The decision to not demolish it when it had become antiquated, but, instead, to modify it and turn it into a museum that would contain the masterpieces belonging to the art period contemporary to its construction was, in Jongin’s opinion, utterly brilliant.

The main hall of the building was situated under a breathtaking iron-and-glass barrel vault; the amount of natural light that seeped through it and the large windows was incredible. On the ground floor, the cavernous space was broken up by stone structures creating the space needed to house sculptures and paintings.

Elated, Jongin didn’t waste any time before diving deep into the beauty awaiting him.

 

“Are you okay?” asked Chanyeol several hours later – it was well into the evening by then –, looking at Jongin. They were taking a stroll along the left bank of the Seine, hand in hand, after their visit at the _Musée d’Orsay_ , hearts and minds full of all the beautiful things they had seen.

Jongin was too silent; Chanyeol would have expected him to be bursting at the edges with happiness, after the experience they had just had. Even Chanyeol, who wasn’t as invested in this as Jongin, felt his heart full after looking at such amazing artworks for more than three hours straight. Thinking about it, Jongin had been just as bubbly for a good part of their visit, fretting over this or that painting, pointing out details, techniques, and use of colors to Chanyeol with the biggest smile on his face and an intense light in his eyes. He had looked so happy at the sight of Degas’ ballerinas, with their white tutus and colorful ribbons, in awe in front of Manet’s _Le_ _Déjeuner sur l’herbe_. Renoir’s _Bal au Moulin de la Galette_ had been Chanyeol’s favorite, and Jongin had made fun of him because, on the first day of their stay in Paris, he had decided to get mad at Jongin right before they passed by what remained of the original building, sparing it not even a glance.

Jongin’s mood had – unsurprisingly, in retrospect – visibly changed when they had stepped inside the section dedicated to Van Gogh. He had observed those paintings for a long time without speaking a word, his emotions betrayed only by his trembling hands and his beautiful eyes wide open in wonder. At one point, he had reached for Chanyeol’s hand and had held it tightly in his own, anchor in a storm.

Chanyeol had never loved Jongin more than when he saw him spilling a few tears in front of _Starry Night Over the Rhône_ : he was so beautiful, so fragile and tender, so _real_ , his heart wide open to the world, unafraid of letting himself feel, unashamed of showing his emotions to whoever was brave enough to look.

Instead of answering his question, Jongin led Chanyeol to the stone balustrade running along the river, their backs to the road, their skin illuminated by the light of the street lamps reflecting on the murky water below. They stayed like that for a while, each one of them lost in their own thoughts, but not alone, never alone, never again.

“Today made me think back of that Doctor Who episode we saw together, do you remember it? The one where—”

“The one where the Doctor brings Van Gogh to the _Musée d’Orsay_ to show him how much his paintings are today, of course I remember it,” continued Jongin, grinning. “I also remember you crying like a baby.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t, too! We practically cried into each other’s arms!”

“Baekhyun came back into your room just as you started sobbing! I’ve never seen anyone backtrack so quickly out of a room in my life!” They were both laughing now, recalling Baekhyun’s shocked face at the sight of two grown men sobbing their hearts out wrapped in a Zootopia-themed fuzzy blanket.

Still giggling, Chanyeol pressed a kiss on Jongin’s cheek. “I love you,” he told him.

“I love you too,” answered Jongin, pressing a quick peck on Chanyeol’s mouth. He sighed. “But I’m so sad this is our last day in France,” he said, a pout forming on his pretty lips. “We still have so much left to see! We haven’t explored even a quarter of Paris, and let’s not talk about Versailles, or the Loire Valley, or Arles, Chanyeol, we didn’t see Arles!” He sounded so mad about it, Chanyeol couldn’t help finding him cute.

“We’ll come back next year, then.”

That stopped Jongin in his rant. He eyed Chanyeol suspiciously. “Will we?”

Chanyeol dragged him in his arms, holding him tightly. “Of course we will if that is what you want,” he said, looking into his eyes. Slowly, Jongin started to smile and then hid his face against Chanyeol’s shoulder in a weak attempt to conceal his giddiness. Chanyeol started rocking him back and forth, eliciting a few more giggles. God, he loved him so much.

“Do you know what else I want?” asked Jongin.

“What?”

“For you to sing to me _Starry Starry Night_.”

“But you always cry when you listen to that song,” said Chanyeol, baffled. They had heard it for the first time while watching _Loving Vincent_ – there was a theme there, wasn’t it? –, and since then Chanyeol had found Jongin listening to it several times, misty-eyed. He had decided, then, to learn it himself, just so he could sing it along with Jongin.

“Maybe I feel like crying, then,” he told him. “Please, Chanyeol? For me?”

And so, Jongin still in his arms, his eyes reflecting the vastness of the night sky above them, Chanyeol sang.

 

 _Starry, starry night_  
_Flaming flowers that brightly blaze_  
_Swirling clouds in violet haze_  
_Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue_  
_Colors changing hue_  
_Morning fields of amber grain_  
_Weathered faces lined in pain_  
_Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand_

 

 

 


	9. Epilogue

_Arles, one year later_

Provence was just as beautiful as Jongin remembered it. The light, the colors, the scents in the air, it hadn’t all been a dream.

Soaking up the mild, late afternoon sun while sipping iced lemon tea outside a small café, Jongin felt happy. He watched the people going back and forth on the narrow street leading towards the Roman theater and tried to guess what their lives were like. Were they satisfied? Were they sad, or angry, or in love?

Suddenly inspired, he opened his trusty sketchbook that he had placed on the small, round table he was sitting at, and started drawing: a little girl’s smile missing a few teeth, the old waiter’s funny gait, a few pigeons fighting for some breadcrumbs, a couple kissing uncaring of their ice-cream cones melting on their hands.

And then Chanyeol’ hands holding a guitar, his eyes crinkled at the corners in laughter, his pouting mouth, his furrowed brows, his funny ears. _I start drawing something else, but I always end up coming back to you_ , he thought, smiling to himself.

They had been back in France for a couple of days now, a year after their first trip. Nothing much had changed between them, but, at the same time, everything was different. They still lived apart, but Chanyeol and Baekhyun had rented an apartment together and now Jongin was a permanent fixture there, much to Baekhyun’s annoyance (possibly because of how many times he had surprised them in compromising positions on the couch).

Chanyeol had also finally met Jongin’s family – and his dogs – on Jongin’s birthday, when they had traveled together to Jongin’s hometown. His family had been elated to finally meet him properly, after all the years they had had to listen to Jongin talking non-stop about this boy – while also denying having a crush on him, had added Jongin’s sisters, who had also thought it a good idea to show Chanyeol Jongin’s baby pictures. Absolute evil was real, and it resided in older sisters.

In the spring, they had gone stargazing together in the country, now that Chanyeol had his own car – it had actually been his sister’s car, a small, bright blue hatchback that had seen better days, but it had become Chanyeol’s pride and joy, go figure –, something that, Chanyeol had confessed to him, he had been dreaming of doing for a long time.

Still lost in memories of the past year, Jongin was woken up from his daydreaming by Chanyeol’s booming voice announcing his arrival: “Jongin! You won’t believe what I just saw! A dog in a Superman costume!” he yelled, scaring the ladies sitting at the tables beside theirs. He sat down heavily in the chair in front of Jongin and, without missing a beat, shoved his phone under Jongin’s nose while calling over the waiter to place his order, apparently famished. He had been taking a walk down the street looking for souvenirs and had found instead that _absolute treasure of a dog, oh my God_ , it was the cutest thing Jongin had ever seen.

Munching happily on the French fries he had ordered, Chanyeol was looking at Jongin drawing with a smitten smile on his face. When Jongin looked up from his sketchbook, he chuckled, grabbing a paper napkin to wipe away a ketchup stain on Chanyeol’s chin. “You’re a mess,” he said, earning himself an even bigger smile and a flying kiss. Giggling and shaking his head, he went back to his work.

Finally done with his sketching, Jongin closed his book and put it back in his bag. Chanyeol had, in the meantime, eaten all his fries and was now occupying himself with his phone while waiting for Jongin to finish. Attracting Chanyeol’s attention by bumping his foot against his, Jongin enjoyed the sight of the new smile that bloomed on his face when he looked up from his phone. Placing it on the table, Chanyeol took Jongin’s hand in his own and asked: “So, where to?”

Jongin smiled, and took out his map.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve arrived at the end of this journey. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this story, and please, if you feel so inclined, do leave a comment, it’d make me really happy to hear your thoughts about this story!
> 
> if you want to talk about anything you can find me on Twitter at [awjonginnie](https://twitter.com/awjonginnie)!


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